


The Road Not Taken

by barbitone



Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [24]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More info in notes, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:41:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23810251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone
Summary: “Don’t give me up,” Ancel said. “Don’t. You want me.”“Ancel-” Berenger said, his expression pained.“When we kissed, you-”“Ancel,” Berenger said sharply. When Ancel flinched back, his eyes softened. “I’m sorry. It’s dangerous for you to be with me and you know it. This is for your own good.”(At the end of Pet, Berenger ends their contract. It only goes downhill from there.)
Relationships: Ancel/Berenger (Captive Prince), Ancel/Others
Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1455904
Comments: 358
Kudos: 268





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here's the deal- I went with the "choose not to use warning" tag because that's what I generally do when we're getting into questionable territory. There is no "outright" rape, there is no main character death. However, we're getting into Ancel being Ancel- which means he's going to use sex as a tool to get ahead. Does he particularly want that sex? No. Is he self-aware enough to know that? No. Does he even have a healthy enough understanding of sex in general to think of it as something that might be fun and pleasurable for the sake of it, rather than as a service he performs in exchange for other things? No.
> 
> So- the non con tag is not really applicable, and the dubcon tag is questionable? Ancel fully consents to and pursues things that he doesn't enjoy and are pretty much bad for him because he's Ancel and the alternative is worse. So take that how you will ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> There won't be gratuitous violence, sexual or otherwise, but there will violence, and there will be sex scenes where it's pretty clear that Ancel is consenting but Not Into It, which isn't too far out from canon.
> 
> So far the fic isn't finished but I'm pretty confident I'll get there reasonably soon, so I figured- fuck it. I'll start posting :) 
> 
> Thank you to [Salt_Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salt_Queen/) for betaing! You're the best!!!

* * *

Ancel felt sick to his stomach as he stared past Berenger at the ornate cabinet behind him, trying to will back the hot impotent tears stinging at his eyes. 

He knew he’d played it all wrong from the beginning, but he understood Berenger now. Understood what he wanted and how to give it to him. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

“Don’t give me up,” he said.

Berenger let out a slow breath, his expression pained. “Ancel-”

“Don’t,” Ancel said. “You want me.”

“Ancel-”

“When we kissed, you-”

 _“Ancel,”_ Berenger said sharply. When Ancel flinched back, his eyes softened. “I’m sorry. It’s dangerous for you to be with me and you know it. This is for your own good.”

Ancel tightened his lips into a thin line. His gut was churning unpleasantly and suddenly he was furious. “For my own good?” he managed to burst out.“If you cared about what was _good_ for me, you wouldn’t have bought me in the first place! You wouldn’t have dragged me into this- this-” he waved his hand vaguely. He wasn’t sure _what,_ exactly. A coup? A civil war? Whatever it was, being with Berenger put him in the middle of it.

He swiped his hand over his eyes, taking a slow shuddering breath. He was willing to stay, despite it all. He wanted to stay. But if Berenger wanted to give him up, there was nothing Ancel could do.

“I’m sorry,” Berenger said.

“I don’t care,” Ancel scoffed. “I thought you were different, but you’re just like the rest of them. You pretend to care about what I want until it’s _inconvenient_ for you.”

“That’s not-”

“It is!” Ancel burst out, heart pounding. His face felt hot. There wasn’t enough air in the room to breathe and he refused to cry, not here. Berenger had made him care, _feel something_ for him, only to throw him away when it would hurt him worst. 

Ancel would have been better off with a stupid hedonistic cad like Rouart. He could have been lounging on silk sheets in Toutaine eating sweets instead of on the verge of tears in a well-appointed suite in Arles and in the middle of some stupid rebellion. Maybe it was for the best, then, that Berenger didn’t want him anymore. He knew what he was and where he belonged. Staying with Berenger would probably only get him killed.

“Sell me,” Ancel hissed. “I don’t care! That’s all I was to you anyway. Just a whore to be bought and sold. At least the others don’t pretend to be better.”

Berenger swallowed heavily, closing his eyes. “I’ll see that your contract goes to someone who won’t mistreat you.”

“Just sell me to the highest bidder,” Ancel spit out and stormed out of the room. Berenger called after him but he didn’t turn back. He was done.

* * *

Ancel couldn’t sleep. Instead he lay awake, staring up at the heavy curtains surrounding his bed as he tried to will the tears away. For the next few days he avoided Berenger as best he could, telling himself it was all in aid of their ruse of being on bad terms. Except it wasn’t a ruse anymore, was it. Now it was real.

Berenger didn’t want him and Ancel wasn’t about to lose any more sleep over it. He flirted with the other Lords, gossiped with their pets. He tried to be as desirable as possible and gloried in the longing stares he got- from Lords, soldiers, even servants. Everyone wanted him. Everyone who mattered.

He was sitting at his dressing table combing his hair in preparation for bed when there was a faint knock on the door. He knew who it would be even as he called out a quiet “enter.”

Berenger stepped inside, pale and somehow diminished. His shoulders were slumped and there were dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t been sleeping. Ancel told himself he didn’t care.

“It’s done?” he asked, not turning or meeting Berenger’s eyes in the mirror.

“Yes,” Berenger said, his voice parchment thin.

“Who is it?” Ancel asked, pausing with the jewel-studded ivory comb held loosely in his hand.

“Lord Droet,” Berenger said.

“Droet,” Ancel said with a scowl. “He already _has_ a pet. Don’t tell me you’ve sold me into being second best?”

“He sent his pet away in favor of having you,” Berenger said. He was still lingering awkwardly by the door as though he were afraid of stepping closer. “I told him you wouldn’t accept his bid otherwise. He was willing to make that sacrifice. I thought it would please you.”

“Hm,” Ancel said, going back to combing his hair. “Yes. It does please me.”

“You deserve…” Berenger paused, swallowing loudly enough that Ancel could hear it from across the room. “Better. I’m sorry.”

Ancel’s mouth twisted into a grimace but he didn’t have the stomach for another fight. He’d already bared enough of himself in the last one. 

“This will be fine,” he said dismissively. Some instinct had him wanting to say _thank you,_ but he’d be damned if he'd thank Berenger for selling him away against his will. He said nothing at all and Berenger nodded curtly and turned to go.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Ancel whispered mockingly to his own reflection. “Fool. I’m such a fool.”

* * *

Berenger was the past and Ancel did what he always did- he set his sights to the future.

He remembered Droet from the banquet when they’d first come to Arles. He’d been impressed with Ancel’s fire tricks, with his confidence and audacity. He wasn’t in his chambers when Ancel arrived with his things, but that was just as well since it would give him a chance to get his bearings.

The rooms were nicer than Berenger’s, more lavish. If Ancel was correct- and he was- Droet was technically lower ranked than Berenger, a minor noble from Chasteigne rather than the Lord of the province. However, he stood high in the Regent’s good graces. He owned vineyards that supplied vintages to the royal court in an exclusive contract, meaning he was rich and secure in his position. Not like Berenger- whose lands yielded little more than lumber from the northern forests and quarry stone from the mountains, along with the occasional nuisance of a Vaskian raid. And that was even before considering the difficulties of his problematic loyalty to a losing cause.

Without question, Ancel had traded up.

He undressed and brushed out his hair before looking through his jewelry box. The emeralds Berenger had given him were buried near the bottom. They were still the finest jewels he had, but the thought of touching them, much less _wearing_ them, made Ancel feel faintly sick. He selected a few gold body chains instead, adorning his waist and neck, his wrists.

That’s how he waited for Droet to arrive- lounging in his bed, naked but for the gold.

He nearly fell asleep from the boredom of it, but finally he heard footsteps outside and made sure his posture was as alluring as possible. When the door opened he smirked at the figure waiting beyond.

“Ancel,” Droet said, his voice breathy and pleased. He was closer in age to the Regent than Berenger, was certainly softer around the middle. He didn’t make a habit of riding, or hunting, or any other particularly physical pursuits, preferring to spend his time enjoying the entertainments Arles offered. But he wasn’t unpleasantly unattractive. And he was still better than Louans.

“My Lord,” Ancel said coquettishly, lowering his eyes.

“Aren’t you a sight,” Droet said, licking his lips. “I paid a fortune for you. I hope you’ll make it worth my while.”

“You wouldn’t have bothered if you didn’t already know I would,” Ancel said, stretching languidly to put his body on display. Droet’s eyes darkened with desire and Ancel felt an abrupt pang of dread.

He’d forgotten to prepare himself.

He’d never needed to, with Berenger, and now he’d fallen out of the habit of it. Fool!

Droet wouldn’t abide a delay, he could tell by the way he was walking towards the bed. Ancel’s thoughts raced as he tried to figure out what to do.

“The Prince certainly seemed pleased with me,” he said, his heart still pounding. “As did his slave.”

“Oh yes, I heard all about that,” Droet said, visibly excited now. “It was the talk of the court. Shame I couldn’t be there to see it.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to offer a private demonstration,” Ancel said with a smirk. He rose from the bed and winked at Droet as he opened the laces of Droet's trousers, pushing him to sit before kneeling between his thighs.

His cock was not nearly as big as the slave’s, which was a blessing. Ancel didn’t hesitate before taking it in his mouth.

Droet groaned, sinking his hand into Ancel’s hair and holding tight.

“Look at you,” he muttered. “Such a pretty little whore, and all mine now. I bet after you were done with the slave Berenger dragged you to bed and gave you the fucking you deserved.”

After he was done with the slave Berenger had put his hand on Ancel’s shoulder and looked into his eyes as he asked, _“did he hurt you?”_

“You can do better than that,” Droet said and tightened his hold on Ancel’s hair before dragging him down, all the way. Ancel felt a faint stirring of panic before instinct took over and he opened his throat, just a vessel for Droet’s pleasure. It wasn’t as difficult as it had been in the garden. His eyes were stinging with tears but it was just the lack of air, the shock of it after so long spent untouched.

It was fine, he’d be used to it in time. He moaned loudly, feigning pleasure, and Droet cursed as his hips shifted restlessly, fucking up into his mouth.

Ancel encouraged him with soft touches to his thighs, with more moans. He made sure to keep his expression slack as though with pleasure and pushed away the ache in his jaw, his knees. None of that mattered.

Droet came with a gasp and Ancel swallowed, breathing carefully through his nose until Droet loosened his hold on his hair and finally let him pull back. Ancel didn’t wipe away the spit from his lips or chin and Droet grinned as he stared.

“You’re very good,” Droet said. “Too good. I was planning on fucking you, but your mouth was too tempting.”

“Where’s the fun in having everything all at once?” Ancel murmured, his throat too irritated for anything louder. “We have all the time in the world for that, my lord.”

“True,” Droet said before standing. “Help me dress for dinner.”

Ancel stood to do as he was told. It was obvious in his undressed state that he wasn’t aroused but Droet didn’t seem to mind. Ancel helped Droet into an elaborate jacket that seemed to take ages to lace up.

“I’ve a gift for you,” Droet said.

“Oh?” Ancel asked, forcing himself to smile. He thought of the emerald necklace hidden among his other jewelry and swallowed hard.

Droet gave him a small wooden box and Ancel opened it to reveal red shimmering silk- a shawl of some sort, or a wrap. The hem was embroidered with dangling rubies and gold discs almost like coins.

“Wear this to dinner tonight,” Droet said.

“Thank you, my lord,” Ancel said as he tied the silk around his hips and did a little twirl to show off. Droet seemed pleased, but when Ancel turned to go to his own room, Droet grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.

“Where are you going?”

“Just freshening up,” Ancel said. “I look a mess.” His face-paint was surely smudged, based on the marks his lips had left on Droet’s cock. His hair had to be a disaster from the way Droet had clutched at him.

“You look well fucked,” Droet said. “I like it.”

“You want to show me off,” Ancel said with a smile that was a bit more genuine than the others had been. It was good that Droet wanted to show him off, try to make the other lords jealous. It would raise his value for them to see how pleased Droet was with him.

“Of course,” Droet said with a grin that revealed an awful lot of teeth. “Of course I do. Look at you.”

They walked to the banquet hall arm in arm, Ancel’s skin covered in goosebumps where it wasn’t covered by the meagre scrap of silk. He kept his face tilted up proudly and a smile fixed to his lips as whispering broke out among the courtiers and their pets. He only caught a quick glimpse of Berenger, conspicuous without a pet and sitting off in the corner as far away from the Regent’s inner circle as possible. He couldn’t read the expression on Berenger’s face but he pointedly didn’t look at him as they crossed the hall and sat at the head table, a few seats away from the Regent himself.

Dinner passed in a blur and at the end of it Ancel wasn’t sure if he’d eaten anything. He couldn’t recall Droet feeding him anything, but he wasn’t hungry so he must have. He wasn’t thirsty either, even though his wine glass was untouched. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Berenger was watching him, but every time he snuck a glance his way, Berenger was engaged in conversation with a different courtier.

After dinner the Regent invited Droet back to his study for drinks and Ancel trailed after him dutifully, his heart in his throat. It was an honor, especially with the way everyone was watching.

The study was dark, lit only by a fire roaring in the fireplace. Nicaise went over to lay on the rug before it, flipping idly through what looked like a children’s picture book as he ignored the other three people in the room.

The Regent sat in a tall-backed arm chair close to the fire. “You don’t mind if I borrow your pet, do you?” the Regent asked, never once taking his icy gaze off of Ancel.

“Not at all,” Droet said, moving to a side table where he poured out two measures of some amber liquor. He handed one to the Regent before taking the other to the sofa, sitting down with a quiet groan

Ancel wasn’t sure what to do as he stood in the middle of the room until the Regent raised an eyebrow and patted his thigh. Nicaise looked up at that, frowning slightly as Ancel walked over and perched on the Regent’s lap.

Ancel forced himself to smile and tilt his face to the side, projecting confidence he didn’t feel as he draped his arm over the Regent’s shoulders. The Regent ran a finger down his throat and to his chest, playing with one of the gold chains around Ancel’s neck.

“Tell me about your master,” the Regent said.

“Why, he’s sitting right there,” Ancel said, glancing over at Droet. “I’m sure he’d love to tell you anything you wish to know, your highness.”

The Regent smiled, the expression as sharp as the edge of a blade. He tugged lightly on the chain before wrapping it around his hand, his knuckles at the hollow of Ancel’s throat. Ancel had the urge to swallow but the Regent would feel it if he did. He forced himself to relax instead, smiling as vacantly as he could.

“I think we both know he’s not the master I mean.” The Regent took a sip from his glass, the liquor strong enough that Ancel’s eyes were nearly watering from the fumes.

“He hasn’t changed since last you asked, I’d imagine,” Ancel said. It took everything in him not to shift uncomfortably.

“Is he still taking meetings with my nephew?”

“I’m no longer in the place to know such things.”

“But you were,” the Regent said. “What did they talk about?”

Ancel took a slow deep breath to try and stay calm, all too aware that he was alone in a room with people who wouldn’t lift a finger to help him should he need it. He wondered what would happen if the Regent threatened him while Berenger was here instead of Droet. Would he jump out of his seat and pull him out of harm’s way? Would he risk everything he had to protect Ancel the same way he was taking a risk for the Prince?

If the Regent decided to sink a blade into Ancel’s gut right now, Droet would simply stay in his seat, drinking, while Nicaise wrinkled his nose and complained about the mess on the rug.

“I wasn’t there for any meetings,” Ancel said.

The Regent narrowed his eyes, taking a slow drink. “Pity. I thought you were cleverer than this.”

“I’m a pet,” Ancel whispered, lowering his gaze as though he were ashamed. The Regent was a predator, disgusted by weakness as much as he was emboldened by it. “I thought to raise my value by implying… I knew things I didn't know.”

For a long moment the Regent was silent, and then he scowled and shoved Ancel off his lap. Ancel gasped in shock and tumbled to the carpet in an ungainly heap of limbs. He wasn’t hurt, not really, but there were still tears rising to his eyes as he hurried to fix his clothing and jewelry, his hair.

Nicaise looked up again, and though Ancel was expecting a mean smirk, there was something that looked like concern in his eyes.

“You may go now,” the Regent said to Droet with a dismissive flick of his ring-encrusted fingers. Droet drained his glass and stood, unperturbed by the scene he’d witnessed. He didn’t bother offering Ancel his hand so Ancel stood on his own. He was flushed with shame, though he wasn’t sure what it was he was ashamed of.

The walk back to Droet’s rooms was silent, but once inside Droet took his wrist and pulled him into his room, onto his bed.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he said.

“Of course,” Ancel said, forcing another smile. “But if I might take a moment? I haven’t the chance to-” he flushed, looking down. “To prepare myself,” he finished quietly.

“It’s fine,” Droet said, “I’m sure you can take it.”

Ancel’s eyes widened uncertainly but there was no arguing. He watched as Droet pulled off his clothes, easier to take off than put on, before coming towards the bed naked. It wasn’t the most pleasant sight, but he wasn’t the ugliest man Ancel had been with, not by far.

“Hands and knees,” Droet said, so Ancel moved to obey. He knew how to do this. There was nothing to be worried about- he’d done this so many times, in much worse circumstances than this. Here his knees were cushioned by a feather mattress and a goose-down comforter, silk sheets. This was still better than the brothel in Sanpelier and the wine soaked brutes, one after another.

Ancel swallowed as Droet flipped up the flimsy covering of his silk wrap. When he brought his cock to Ancel’s entrance it was slick with oil, so that was good. It was fine. It was going to be fine.

He took a deep breath and _forced_ himself to relax, to take it when Droet pushed in with a reedy groan.

“That’s it,” Droet muttered. “Fuck, you’re tight. I would have thought Berenger would break you in better than this.”

Ancel was wound tight as a bow string, on the verge of snapping at the mention of Berenger’s name. Berenger wouldn’t have been like this. He would have been slow, careful. He probably would have wanted to finger Ancel open and press kisses to his lips, his face, his neck.

“No one can break me in as well as you, my lord,” Ancel breathed out through the pain.

He squeezed his eyes shut, clutching at the sheets. He could feel Droet inside him, could hear him grunting behind him. He was sweating already, the smell of it rising sour and acrid in the air.

Berenger wouldn’t smell like that. He’d smell of fresh air and soap, maybe of horse. He’d be smiling as he coaxed Ancel to open for him. And then he’d groan, low and breathy, and the sound of it would make Ancel flare with desire. He’d stroke Ancel’s sides and thighs and chest while he whispered sweet nothings, tell him how beautiful he was.

“That’s it, you whore,” Droet gasped. “You’re worth every sol, aren’t you.”

“Yes,” Ancel gasped, trying to force a semblance of pleasure into his voice. “Yes, yes, yes-!”

Afterwards Ancel forced himself to sit up and not grimace at the feeling of Droet’s spend trickling out of him. It was over for now and he could finally go back to his own rooms and sleep, blissfully alone.

As he bent to grab the silk wrap that lay discarded on the floor, Droet reached out to take his hand.

Ancel looked over, nervous that Droet would want a second round. Or worse- he’d want Ancel to sleep here, in bed, with him.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Droet said seriously. “Not when we’re alone.”

Ancel froze, uncertain. “My lord?” he asked.

“You don’t have to pretend to like it,” Droet said. “I know you don’t. That’s alright. I don’t mind.”

Ancel stared at him, not sure how to respond. It felt like Droet was waiting for something, and when Ancel realized what it was he nearly laughed.

“Thank you, my lord,” he said, inclining his head. Droet thought he was giving Ancel a gift- permission not to pretend to enjoy their fucking. It was a gift, in its own way. Just like the silk- it was a gift meant for Droet’s pleasure rather than Ancel’s.

Droet smiled magnanimously and Ancel made his way out.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

After the first time, sex with Droet didn’t grow particularly more pleasant. It didn’t grow more unpleasant either, so Ancel supposed he should be thankful. This was what being a pet was. Comparing his current circumstances to his previous ones would do him no good, so he put Berenger out of his mind and focused on serving Droet.

It was fine enough, overall. Eventually Droet gifted him diamonds and Ancel wore them dutifully, even though they didn’t quite bring out his eyes as well as the emeralds had. He didn’t even want to fuck every day, and when Ancel found the thought of it particularly dreadful, he simply made sure to keep Droet’s wineglass topped up during dinner so once they got back to their rooms he’d be too drunk to attempt fucking at all.

Ancel took to waiting until Droet fell asleep to wander the gardens in the blissful silence of the night, peaceful and calm.

That was where Berenger found him, two weeks into his contract with Droet. Ancel was sitting on the edge of a fountain, staring into the water as he watched the small silver fish swimming around, when he heard the footsteps.

He knew who it was without turning and didn’t bother to offer a greeting when Berenger stopped, awkwardly clearing his throat.

He waited, and finally Berenger spoke.

“I see I haven’t been arrested,” he said quietly. “I take it that means you haven’t shared what you know about my meetings with…”

“I don’t know anything,” Ancel said, still not looking at him as he trailed his fingers through water, scattering the fish. “You can rest assured of that.” 

Berenger’s meetings with the Prince had ended once the Prince had left Arles for the border. But Ancel had noticed Berenger meeting with Vannes and Herode, others. He was still planning something, doing things he shouldn’t be. Ancel knew there was nothing he could do to stop him. There was nothing he could do about any of it, except try and stay out of the path of disaster.

Berenger still hadn’t moved, despite the obvious dismissal in Ancel’s tone. Eventually Ancel looked up at Berenger standing beside him. He looked good, even plainly dressed as he was. In the darkness his jacket seemed more black than its actual drab brown and the moonlight turned the graying hair at his temples to silver.

“You shouldn’t be here, talking to me,” Ancel said. He wished Berenger would just go _away-_ back to his rooms, back to Varenne, back to his stupid fancy life and out of Ancel’s.

“I know,” Berenger said softly. It was the first time they’d spoken since the night before Ancel had left. He’d forgotten how good Berenger’s voice sounded- low and even. Reassuring.

“I miss you,” Berenger said.

Something hot flared in Ancel’s gut, something almost like anger but not quite. He was on his feet before he’d made the decision to rise, his hands fisted in the lapels of Berenger’s jacket before he’d thought to step forward. He didn’t know what he was doing as he dragged Berenger down into a kiss, moaning into his mouth and relishing the familiar taste of him.

Berenger raised his hands to set them on Ancel’s waist, his palms hot through Ancel’s silks. Ancel could feel each one of his fingers like a brand and he leaned in closer, moaning once more as Berenger licked into his mouth.

He loved it. He hated it. He wanted to push Berenger down to the grass and have him, or maybe hit him, the urge stronger than any urge he’d had before. Berenger made a sound too, something like the groan that Ancel had imagined but infinitely more pained, desperate.

Finally taking hold of himself, Ancel shoved Berenger away. He stumbled back a few steps, eyes wide and chest heaving.

“Fuck you,” Ancel spit out, trying to keep quiet in case there were unwanted ears strolling through the gardens. “Fuck _you._ You don’t get to say that to me.”

“Ancel-” Berenger started but Ancel took a step back, and then another. He wiped Berenger’s taste off his lips with the back of his hand as he furiously blinked the tears back from his eyes.

“Stay _away_ from me,” he said before turning and practically running away.

He returned to Droet’s rooms and closed the door before pressing his back to it, breathing hard. Berenger was the past and he needed to look to the future.

He could hear Droet snoring from his bedroom as he started the weary trek towards his own room, but then he caught sight of something bright red on Droet’s writing desk. He crept closer, wary of being caught.

There was an open letter on Droet’s desk bearing the Regent’s seal.

Ancel stared at it in the darkness, willing the marks to make sense to him. Berenger had insisted on lessons after Ancel’s admission that he couldn’t read, but they hadn’t made it much further than the alphabet and the concept of sounding out words. In his gut Ancel knew the message was important, but he didn’t have the hours he would need to puzzle it out.

Instead he fetched a fresh bit of parchment and a quill, doing his best to copy the missive despite his shaking hands and pounding heart, waiting for the moment Droet’s snoring faltered and he was caught.

In the end he needn't have worried. He put away the quill and the ink and took the copied letter back to his own room, puzzling over it as he waited for the ink to dry. He caught the word _Laurent_ a few times in the missive. Worse, he caught the word _Berenger._

* * *

Ancel found Nicaise before dinner, sitting in a window seat in the otherwise empty royal library as he played with a puzzle made of interconnecting metal rings. He looked up when Ancel walked in before twisting his face into a scowl.

“What do _you_ want,” he muttered.

“Here,” Ancel said, shoving the copied letter toward him. He knew Nicaise could read. He’d seen it for himself that night in the Regent’s study.

Nicaise took it slowly, running his eyes over the shaky script. “What is this chicken scratch?”

“The best I could do,” Ancel said, crossing his arms over his chest. “What does it say?”

“It-” Nicaise’s eyes widened before he gasped and crumpled the letter in his hands. “Where did you get this?”

“Where do you think?” Ancel snatched the letter out of his grasp and did his best to flatten it out before folding it carefully once more.

“You shouldn’t have that,” Nicaise muttered. “You-”

“Shut up,” Ancel said. “If it’s important, we should get it to the Prince.”

“That’s treason,” Nicaise whispered, eyes wide.

“No, what the Regent is doing is treason.”

“That’s- none of my business,” Nicaise said. “None of yours, either. We shouldn’t get involved-”

“We’re already involved,” Ancel hissed. “Are you _stupid?”_

“No!” Nicaise exclaimed.

“Then figure it out for yourself,” Ancel said, sitting down beside him and leaning in. “If the Regent wins, what’s going to happen to you?”

“What are you talking about.” Nicaise pointedly didn’t look at him as he turned back to his puzzle.

“When he gets tired of you,” Ancel said, reaching out and taking Nicaise by the chin to tilt his face up. “When you get too old for his taste. What do you think he’ll do?”

“He- he loves me,” Nicaise whispered. “He said I’m special. Different. It’ll be different, with me.”

Ancel yanked the puzzle out of his hands with a growl. “He’s going to fucking _kill you.”_

Nicaise’s eyes widened in shock but Ancel could tell that deep down- he knew. Nicaise was almost his now. Almost.

“Where are all the other boys that got too old for him?” Ancel asked, twisting the knife. “Are they off frolicking about in some garden? Because I haven’t heard of any. Where are all the others, Nicaise?”

Nicaise’s chin was trembling, his eyes bright. 

Ancel pressed onwards, leaning in to bring his lips to Nicaise’s ear. “He’s going to kill Prince Laurent. And then he’s going to kill _you.”_

Nicaise sniffled loudly and Ancel leaned back with a smirk. There it was. He had him. 

“The letter,” he said. “What does it say?”

Nicaise wiped at his eyes and looked away, out the window towards the gardens. There were elegantly dressed courtiers strolling outside without a trouble in the world. Ancel hated them.

“When the Prince goes south through Chasteigne,” Nicaise started haltingly, “there will be an ambush waiting for him.”

“And Berenger? What does it say about Berenger?”

“It says to- to watch him. Him and his servants. His horses.”

Ancel breathed out shakily, the letter in his hand suddenly as heavy as lead. “You have to give this to Berenger. He’ll make sure it gets to the Prince.”

 _“Me?”_ Nicaise exclaimed. “Fuck you. I’m not doing it. Do it yourself.”

“He’s _watching_ me,” Ancel hissed.

“Are you crazy?” Nicaise hissed back. “I’m not going anywhere near _Berenger.”_

Ancel scowled, his thoughts racing. “Vannes, then. Give it to Vannes.”

“I told you what the letter said, I didn’t say I’d do anything else!”

 _“Nicaise,”_ Ancel said. “The Prince- he likes you. He’ll protect you. But if he’s dead- so are you. You know it. You _know.”_

For a long time Nicaise was silent, and then he huffed out a sharp breath and snatched the letter out of Ancel’s hand before stuffing it down his shirt. 

“I hate you,” he muttered.

“I hate you too,” Ancel said with a smile, offering back the puzzle. Nicaise sneered and turned away, leaving the puzzle behind as he stormed out of the library.

* * *

Ancel cultivated friendships with maids and guards, serving boys. They were practically invisible to the courtiers who only paid attention to their pets and to each other, but the servants had eyes and ears and they were everywhere, they knew everything.

Ancel kept a close eye on Droet’s messages and stopped trying to get him drunk to the point of total incapacitation. Instead he let him get sloppy, talkative. He asked pointed questions while Droet was fucking him, a decent enough distraction from the man’s attentions even when he didn’t manage to get anything useful out of him.

He convinced Nicaise to spy on the Regent for him, too. They met under the guise of Ancel teaching Nicaise fire tricks. Instead he taught him how to gently heat the wax seals on letters to peel them off the parchment without breaking them and how to pick locks, how to know he was being watched, or followed. When he offered to teach Nicaise to pick pockets Nicaise flipped him off and stuck out his tongue.

“What did you think I _did_ before the Regent found me?” Nicaise muttered. “Bet I’m better than you.”

“Bet you’re not,” Ancel challenged.

They made a game of it for a while, strolling through banquets and entertainments with their fingers busy in other people’s pockets. When Ancel finally managed to steal the lavish ruby collier right off of Lady Lafaille’s ample bosom without her noticing- an unofficial grand prize in their little competition- he held it up for Nicaise’s gaze with a jaunty smirk.

Nicaise let out a startled laugh and the Regent, standing beside him with a hand on his shoulder, shot him a sharp look.

That was the end of their game. By unspoken agreement they made sure not to be seen together anymore. Their “fire lessons” came to an end, replaced by passing messages in short hand code and scrawled symbols, keeping their hands to each other’s pockets rather than any of the unwitting nobles around them. Ancel passed valuable information on to Vannes or her Vaskian pet himself, not daring to put Nicaise in even more danger.

It was clear the Regent had his own spies among the Prince’s men based on the missives he got detailing their actions. Nicaise read them all and passed their contents on. It was usually too late to do anything about it by then, the messages having been read and answered by the Regent. But at least Ancel knew more about the Prince’s progress than anyone else at court.

Instead of heading directly for the border he’d gone east through Varenne before turning south along the mountains. He avoided the ambush waiting for him in Chasteigne and all the others. He ousted Govart from his company but still the letters came, so not all the spies had been discovered.

Through each one of the Prince’s successes the Regent got more annoyed, more irritable. Ancel noticed as Nicaise got paler, the shadows under his eyes deepening.

Ancel was in the gardens when Nicaise found him, panting and pale as the grave.

“You were right,” he said, his words coming out in a rush. “You were right. I think he really is going to kill me, soon. And then he’ll declare himself King-”

Ancel froze. Nicaise was still talking but Ancel couldn’t hear him. All he could hear was his own pounding heartbeat. All he could see was the vision of the Regent ascending the dais to that long-empty throne, one of the Counselors placing the crown over his brow. The hall would be wreathed in red- red for the Regency, red for blood.

And then Berenger would step forward, as noble as he was stupid, and accuse the Regent of treason. His head would roll for that, his blood joining the sea of red.

“Are you _listening_ to me?” Nicaise demanded.

“Yes,” Ancel said. “Where is he now?”

“Gone hunting with Guion,” Nicaise said. “Or that’s what he said. They’re not _hunting,_ they’re- plotting. Or- or-”

“Good,” Ancel said, taking Nicaise by the wrist and dragging him back towards the palace. The time for sneaking around and passing messages was over.

He prayed Berenger would be in his rooms and for once his prayers were answered. He was at his writing desk but he rose in alarm when Ancel barged in, still dragging Nicaise behind him.

“Ancel-” Berenger started.

Ancel swallowed and let go of Nicaise at last. It was strange, being so close to Berenger again. It felt like ages since they’d been within earshot of one another, much less barely a few steps away.

“You have to leave Arles,” Ancel said. “Today- _now.”_

“What are you talking about?” Berenger said.

“The Regent is going to execute Nicaise,” Ancel said. “And then he’s going to execute _you._ And Parsins, and all your servants and guards, everyone. Maybe the horses too, if he feels like making a particularly bloody point.”

Berenger stepped forward and raised his hands to cradle Ancel’s face, looking down into his eyes with a faint frown. His hands were so warm. Ancel’s heart stuttered at the touch and he forced himself to be brave, to not look away.

Whatever Berenger saw in his expression had him nodding and Ancel felt faint with relief.

“We’ll leave right away,” Berenger said. “I’ll send a message for Parsins to follow with the rest of my men but the three of us will leave now.”

Ancel swallowed hard. It took all his strength to pull Berenger’s hands away from his face and step back, shaking his head. “I’m not going with you.”

If he left now, Droet would notice him missing and send guards after them. They’d be caught and hanged and then all of this would have been for nothing.

“Ancel,” Berenger whispered.

“I’m not going,” Ancel said, his voice quiet but otherwise firm. 

“Please,” Berenger said. “Come with us.”

There was no way to make Berenger understand so Ancel hardened his heart and did what he had to do. 

“Why?” he asked with a nasty quirk to his lips. “So you can throw me away again?”

Berenger flinched but Ancel kept going. “I have a life here now. I have everything I ever wanted. I’m not going to give it all up just to be with _you.”_

Berenger looked so abjectly wretched that Ancel nearly faltered. But his fate had been sealed as soon as he’d stepped foot in Arles and he wanted to do at least one noble thing in his life. He hated that it was this.

“I can give you everything you want,” Berenger tried one last time. “Jewels, gold, anything. I can-”

“No,” Ancel said. “You can’t. You won’t have anything to give, soon. And even if you did- it wouldn’t matter. I hate you.”

He turned before he could see Berenger’s reaction to the words. He wasn’t a coward, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to look Berenger in the eye just then. He had to leave it to Nicaise now to save the both of them.

He forced himself to walk at a steady pace through the halls back to Droet’s room, forced himself to smile and nod at the courtiers he passed. He wanted to cry, but crying would make his face puffy and Droet would get suspicious. Maybe he could cry later, when Droet made him choke on his cock. That might be a relief.

The evening passed as usual. The Regent wasn’t in the hall, still “hunting” with Guion or whatever it was he was doing. Berenger, of course, wasn’t there either.

After dinner Ancel sucked Droet’s cock and didn’t pretend to like it, which was what both of them preferred anyway.

In the morning the Regent would return and find his pet missing, find Berenger missing too. It was too late to run, the gates were closed after nightfall to all but those who bore the royal seal. There was no place to hide, either. Not for long. But maybe there was a chance- a faint chance the Regent wouldn’t suspect Ancel was involved. His best bet now was to continue on as normal. If the worst happened, he’d have to figure it out as he went.

Ancel couldn’t sleep that night so he rose before dawn to brush out his hair and carefully apply paint to his face. He put on his emeralds and looked at himself in the mirror as the sun rose, stroking the necklace that looked so fine with his eyes. He looked beautiful with the sunlight playing over his hair.

He looked beautiful when the guards came and took him away.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

The past was the past and Ancel did what he always did- he looked to the future. He didn’t give into despair or lay down to die. The game wasn’t over, not while he could walk or talk or _think._ Not while he could breathe.

The guards took him to the Regent’s study, where the Regent was sitting in his arm chair by the fire. He didn’t look pleased.

“Where are they?” the Regent asked.

“Who?” Ancel replied.

The Regent smirked. “You’re not as cute as you think you are.”

“No?” Ancel asked, taking a seat on the sofa and crossing his legs. “So you must mean your missing pet. I’ve no idea where he’s gone.”

“I’ll send a battalion of soldiers to take Varenne, then,” the Regent said, idly inspecting his fingernails. “I think I might find him there.”

“You think that’s where they went?” Ancel asked, raising an eyebrow. “Seems a bit foolish, seeing as how that’s the first place you’d look.”

It was probably exactly where Berenger had gone and Ancel wasn’t sure if that was stupid or brilliant of him. The Regent was the type to plan five steps ahead, to get tangled in strategies and counter strategies. A man like him wouldn’t think someone would do something so painfully obvious. A man like him would send soldiers to check all the same. But Berenger’s home wasn’t a palace or a manor like the other fancy places Ancel had seen by now. Berenger’s home was a _fortress._

Though it had run on a skeleton staff while Ancel had been there, he had no doubt that Berenger had men he could call on for aid, for defense. The fortress was built over hotsprings so they’d not run out of water, and surely there were stores of food in the cellars too. If Berenger had taken Nicaise home, they would be safe there for a good long while even if the Regent sent all of Vere to take them. But he couldn’t- he’d already sent the lion’s share of his forces south, to take on the Prince.

The only one who wasn’t safe was Ancel, trapped in Arles alone. But he was used to being alone, and he wasn’t ready to die. The Regent wouldn’t kill him so long as he thought Ancel might be more useful alive than dead.

“Ah,” the Regent said. “Why don’t you tell me where they are, then.”

“I’d love to,” Ancel said. “But the thing is- I’m worried you’ll kill me after.”

“I will,” the Regent said. “Swiftly. It will be a mercy, I promise. Not like what I’ll do to you otherwise.”

“Let’s make a deal,” Ancel said, forcing his voice to come out steady. “You let me go, and I’ll send you a letter telling you everything.” The Regent’s lips quirked up in a foul mockery of a smile. “Or maybe you can take me to a bridge,” Ancel continued. “I’ll stand on one end, you stand on the other. I’ll shout out the answer to you-”

The Regent rose from his chair and closed the distance between them in an instant before backhanding Ancel over the face so hard he saw stars. He gasped, his eyes watering.

The Regent was talking, saying something- not to him. There were gauntleted hands on his upper arms dragging him off the couch and onto the rug before the roaring fireplace.

“Take off his clothes,” the Regent said.

Ancel’s head was still spinning, his mind foggy, but he heard the sound of ripping silk and forced himself to laugh. “Are you going to fuck me, your highness?” he managed, his voice coming out thick and too loud. His mouth was so full of spit he was nearly choking on it, but when he spit to the rug he saw it was as red as the Regent’s banner. “I’m honored. But I thought I was too old-”

Someone kicked him in the gut and Ancel tried to curl in on himself as he fought to catch his breath. There were hands on his thighs, pulling his legs apart. Ancel wasn’t scared. He could endure this if he needed to, he wasn’t some blushing virgin.

“Me?” the Regent asked. “Oh no. I wouldn’t sully myself. Maybe I’ll give you to my guards, to do with as they will.”

“Aren’t you worried-” Ancel gasped out, “worried- my ass will be too sweet and they’ll run off with me instead?”

“Oh, indeed,” the Regent said, his voice mocking. “Let’s make a different deal then.”

He moved back into Ancel’s view, moving to stand between his legs. He held a long bit of iron in his hand, the tip of it glowing with heat. Ancel swallowed and tried to take deep breaths, tried to stay calm. He could get through this like he’d gotten through everything else.

“The terms are this,” the Regent said with a smirk. “If you can take the iron without making a sound, I’ll let you go. What do you think? Surely you can do better than the Akielon slave.”

Ancel wasn’t an idiot- he knew the Regent wasn’t going to let him go. 

He didn’t try to hold in his scream when the Regent pressed the hot iron to the bare skin of his thigh.

* * *

They hadn’t bothered bandaging the burns before throwing Ancel into a cell. He waited for the guards to leave before letting his pained whimpers fade in favor of taking deep breaths. He let the pain of the five fresh welts on his thigh wash through him and past him, outside of him. It took a few minutes but eventually a feeling of calm detachment came over him.

He could still feel the pain but it was distant, less urgent. He moved so his burnt leg was leaning against the slightly damp stone of the wall of the cell and took a deep breath. Another.

The Regent would find a different torture for him next time. A worse one. Ancel thought he could probably endure it again, but not forever. And if he ever made it out of this, he’d still have to make a living somehow. He couldn’t do it if the Regent marked him up too badly, or maimed him, or worse.

Ancel considered his admittedly limited options while he waited for someone to come. It was hard to tell how much time passed in the silence of the dungeons but eventually there were footsteps and Ancel moved to sit up in a hurry, hiding his ravaged thigh with the scraps that remained of his silks.

A soldier was walking towards the bars holding a tray- dinner, perhaps. And that was a thought, wasn’t it. Soldiers.

Ancel didn’t quite have the strength for it just now, so he stayed silent while the soldier slipped the tray through the bars and turned to go.

The Regent and his men hadn’t thought to take the emerald necklace he was wearing so he took it off with shaking fingers, wrapping it up in a dirty bit of ripped silk that he tied around his ankle, hopefully inconspicuously enough that no one would think anything of it. 

He ate. He slept. In the morning the same soldier returned with breakfast and Ancel made sure to smile at him prettily.

“Hello,” he said.

The soldier paused.

“It's awfully lonely in here,” Ancel said, tilting his head to the side. He knew he looked a mess, but it would only get worse from here so he needed to take a chance while he still could. “Maybe you could stay and keep me company.”

The soldier grinned, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah?” he asked. “Funny how things change, ain’t it. Someone like you wouldn’t have given someone like me a second glance two days ago, but now here you are- begging for my cock.”

“Begging’s a strong word,” Ancel said. “Bargaining, more like.”

The soldier huffed out a laugh and shifted to grip the bars of the cell, leaning forward. “A bargain? What sort of bargain do you hope to make?”

Ancel crawled forward, ignoring the painful twinging of burnt skin pulling as he moved. “You’ve never had a pet, have you. It’s nothing like the cheap whores you’re used to.”

“Is your ass made of gold?” the soldier asked.

“No, but my mouth is,” Ancel countered. “Try it out. In return- set me free.”

A calculated smirk spread over the soldier's face. “Sure.”

Liar.

If Ancel had to guess, he figured the soldier probably didn’t even have a key to his cell. No, the Regent would keep that close, or in the hands of someone he trusted. He’d know that Ancel would try to escape by using the only asset he had.

He stayed on his knees while the soldier opened his belt, giving his quickly hardening cock a few strokes. It was ugly, even as far as cocks went, and reeked of sweat. Ancel leaned forward anyway, smiling up flirtatiously as the soldier sank his free hand into Ancel’s hair.

“Make it real good and you’ll be free by nightfall,” the soldier said.

“I will,” Ancel promised, leaning forward to take the man’s cock in his mouth before promptly biting down.

The soldier screamed. Ancel might have enjoyed it if he weren’t busy bracing himself for what was coming. The soldier used his grip on Ancel’s hair to slam his head into the bars with a loud clang that left him gasping, ears ringing. The shock was greater than the pain, though pain was quick to follow. The soldier was yelling something, cursing him. He still had Ancel by the hair and yanked him once more into the bars, and then a third time.

Abruptly the hand in his hair was gone and Ancel collapsed to the ground, vision blurry and ears ringing as he fought to catch his breath. There were more soldiers on the other side of the bars now, pulling the first away. His cock was still out, flopping pathetically outside his unlaced pants and bleeding profusely.

Ancel blinked as he tried to bring the commotion into focus but it was no use. Everything hurt so bad, his vision was growing dark. He didn’t have much to stay awake for anyway, so he let himself drift off.

* * *

Ancel came awake to a sharp slap, confused as he tried to bring the world around him into focus. He wasn’t in the cell anymore, he was somewhere warm, lying on something soft. Someone was prodding at his face, a man Ancel didn’t recognize.

“Well?” someone asked. The Regent. He was pacing somewhere nearby, each bootfall like the clanging of a bell inside Ancel’s head. He winced and closed his eyes only to get another slap in response.

“Can he speak?” the Regent asked.

“What is your name, boy?” the stranger said. Maybe he was a physician.

It wasn’t hard to play up the confusion or how unfocused his eyes were. Ancel opened his mouth and mumbled a few nonsensical syllables while the physician’s expression darkened.

“He’s faking,” the Regent hissed, striding forward to grab Ancel sharply by the chin and turning his head to look at him.

Ancel groaned and promptly threw up on his boots.

The Regent jerked back with a hiss and yelled for a servant to deal with the mess.

“I don’t think he’s faking,” the physician said. Ancel might have felt victorious if he wasn’t in so much fucking pain. This was still better than the alternative. There was no point in torturing someone who couldn’t speak even if they wanted to, not unless the point was mindless sadism. The Regent didn’t strike him as the type for mindless sadism- surely he was far too busy with his coup to waste any more time on a brain-addled pet.

“How long will it take him to recover?”

“A head injury like this…” the physician sighed and brought a cloth soaked in some sharp smelling liquid to Ancel’s face, wiping carefully at the dried blood. “At least a week, I should think. Maybe more.”

 _“Useless,”_ the Regent hissed. When he came into view once more, he was wearing a fresh pair of boots. Had he really been gone long enough to have time to change his boots? Ancel blinked slowly. He was lying down but that didn’t seem to help how dizzy he felt. He wanted to throw up again, just to muss the Regent’s rug, but his stomach was empty.

“I don’t have time for these stupid games,” the Regent said. “You have four days, that’s it. After that, I’m getting rid of him.”

The physician stood, soldiers taking his place. Ancel didn’t recognize them as they heaved him up off the couch and half carried half dragged him back to his cell, tossing him unceremoniously to the ground. He lay there for a long while before making the effort to crawl into the corner where there was a small pile of straw to cushion him from the cold stone floor.

Time passed in a blur, his thoughts moving sluggishly as he tried to figure out what to do next. He forced himself to eat and drink when they brought food, trying to keep track of how many days had passed by how many meals there were, but he quickly lost track. Sometimes the physician would come and check on him, accompanied by the Regent’s guards.

Ancel played up being hurt, too afraid of the alternative. He had one hope left- that when the Regent had said _get rid of him_ he hadn’t meant execute him. Eventually, on what he thought might be the eve of the fourth day, he got up the courage to ask.

The physician was a decent sort, slapping aside, and when he was finished checking on Ancel’s wounds and turned to go, Ancel grabbed at his sleeve.

“What’s going to happen to me?” Ancel whispered when the man looked back.

He frowned, his bushy eyebrows drawing down. “So you _have_ been faking,” he said, too quietly for the guards to hear.

“Please,” Ancel insisted. “I need to know.”

The physician sighed, pretending to fiddle with one of the bandages around Ancel’s brow. “You’re worthless to him dead, so he’ll sell you.”

“To who?” Ancel asked. “Do you know?”

“I’m just a servant, not privy to his majesty’s plans,” the physician said. “Stay quiet and don’t make trouble, you may survive this yet. Though I can’t say you won’t live to regret it.”

* * *

Ancel didn’t struggle when guards came to take him out of the cell. He was almost grateful for their bruising grip on his upper arms for keeping his steps steady as they took him out into some servant’s courtyard.

The bright sunlight made Ancel’s headache spike from the dull level of pain he’d almost gotten used to into agony and he shut his eyes against the glare. He didn’t struggle as they stripped him of the ragged remains of his filthy silks, thankfully ignoring the incongruous strip around his ankle hiding the emeralds. One of them gathered Ancel’s hair in his fist and took out a dagger.

Ancel’s eyes widened in fear and he fought, trying to get away. The guard laughed and roughly sheared his hair short before shoving him down to his knees for another man to throw a bucket of cold water over him. Ancel gasped in shock but didn’t have a chance to compose himself before someone threw a simple tunic towards him. The command was easy enough to understand. Ancel put the tunic on with shaking fingers before one of the men stepped forward and fastened a thick leather collar around his neck.

He was shoved into a covered wagon containing four young men. One was Droet’s former pet, Mathe, just as much of a storm cloud now as he had been when Ancel had first seen him, though now he sported a giant bruise over half his face. There was another pet too, though Ancel couldn’t quite remember who he’d belonged to.

The other two were younger, servants as far as Ancel could tell. The smallest was familiar, a kitchen boy perhaps. Ancel thought he might have traded him a sweet once in return for delivering a message. The other he knew better- a strapping young lad named Georgie who’d worked in the stables. He’d taken a liking to Ruby and Ancel had paid him to keep an eye on who came through the stables, particularly anyone who came near Berenger’s horses. Ancel could only hope that they weren’t here because of him, but it was too late to feel guilty now.

He sat huddled in the corner with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them to ward off the early morning chill. The movement of the wagon made him nauseous but he forced himself to take slow steady breaths instead of throwing up everywhere and making this miserable journey only more miserable.

For most of the morning all he could hear was a faint ringing in his ears, and then, slowly, conversation started to filter through.

“-my master will save me, you’ll see,” the unknown pet was saying.

“Your master’s _dead,_ Jean,” Mathe, Droet’s former pet, said with a scoff. “Or worse- he sold you out in the first place. Why else are you here?”

The younger servant whimpered and Ancel noticed his left hand was wrapped up in a dirty bandage. Two of his fingers were missing. “What’s gonna happen?” he whispered. “What’s gonna happen to us?”

Georgie, the stableboy, forced a grin and nudged the boy in the shoulder. “We’ll be alright, Theo. Steady now.”

“We’ll be sold as slaves in Akielos, maybe,” Jean, the pet Ancel didn’t know very well, said. He sounded hopeful.

Ancel snorted in derision, keeping his gaze turned towards the dirty straw lining the floor of the wagon.

“You’ve got something to say, Red?” Mathe asked nastily.

“Nothing at all,” Ancel said.

 _“Say it,”_ Mathe hissed.

“Fuck you,” Ancel hissed back, glaring over at him. 

“Fuck you too,” Mathe said. “I should have slipped poison in your wine as soon as you stole my master.”

“Wasn’t hard,” Ancel muttered. “He isn’t exactly a prize, is he.”

“Wait,” the other pet, Jean, said. “Wait- you know something. Just- tell me. Tell me. _Please.”_

Ancel’s head was agony, everything around him an assault on his senses. He had his own problems without babysitting stupid _boys._ “Are you slow?” he demanded.

“Fuck,” Mathe said.

“What-” Jean said.

“Fuck!” Mathe said.

Ancel bared his teeth in a grimace. “If they were sending us to Akielos they would have bathed us in perfumed water and dressed us in gold and silk.”

“Patras, then,” Jean said. “Maybe-”

“Patras already got two-score slaves,” Ancel muttered, “courtesy of the Prince.”

“Then… where?” Jean asked, his voice faint and lost.

“Leather collars,” Ancel said, sharing a knowing glance with Mathe. “Where we’re going, they don’t care for pretty decorations.”

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure out,” Mathe sighed, dropping his head to lean back against the wall of the wagon. “They’re taking us to Vask.”


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

The journey was long and tedious, spent mostly in the wagon except for the times the Regent’s soldiers let them out to relieve themselves or wash in cold streams. As far as Ancel could tell by the sun and the snatches of conversation he heard around him, they were traveling south rather than directly east, towards Vask.

He wasn’t sure what to make of that. Did the Regent not want to send his men through Varenne? Maybe Berenger had patrols on the roads, attacking the false king’s soldiers if they tried to venture past his borders.

Ancel couldn’t help smiling a little as he imagined it. Berenger would look rather dashing on his horse, wearing shining armor instead of his ugly brown jackets. He’d lead his men himself, not hiding behind generals or other underlings, shouting orders as he raised his sword to catch the sunlight.

Maybe he’d have scouts watching the roads, and when they saw the wagon they run and tell him while he sat in a tent pouring over maps. He’d jerk to his feet and climb on his horse in a rush. His herald would blow the war horn to summon the rest of the men and-

Ancel jerked at the sound of a horn outside. He wasn’t stupid enough to think it was Berenger come for him but his heart was slow to catch up to his brain, pounding furiously as he tried to calm himself. His ever-present headache spiked with each beat and he shut his eyes tight, pressing his hands to his temples to try and ease some of the pain.

The wagon slowed and came to a stop. 

Georgie, the stable boy, turned to peer through the slats of the wagon. “You were right,” he whispered. “Vaskians. A dozen of them- all men.”

Jean frowned. “I thought Vaskian tribes were led by women?”

“Must be raiders then,” Mathe said. “We’re probably meant as payment for whatever they’ve been doing for the Regent.”

“Killing and pillaging, goading on the Akielons,” Ancel muttered. He’d heard as much when he’d been playing at being a spymaster.

The boy with the missing fingers, Theo, whimpered. “Are they going to- to _rape_ us?”

“Yeah, probably,” Mathe muttered.

“Oh no,” Theo said, clearly on the verge of tears. “What are we going to do?”

“Try and relax your arsehole,” Mathe said. “Pray they use oil.”

Theo sobbed loudly and Georgie put an arm around his shoulders, glaring at Mathe.

“You’re the arsehole,” Jean said.

“Am I supposed to lie and say they’ll lay us out on a bed of roses and feed us milk and honey?” Mathe asked, his voice rising.

“Shut it,” Ancel said, elbowing him sharply in the side before moving to look through the slats himself. 

It was just as Georgie had said- about a dozen rough-looking men dressed in riding leathers talking to the Regent’s men. Ancel could practically smell the stench coming off them- horse and sweat, smoke and iron. There was a young man with them that seemed to be interpreting between the two groups. He didn’t look much older than Ancel, and he had a similar leather collar around his neck. There weren’t any bruises or injuries Ancel could see, so that was encouraging. Maybe the Vaskians didn’t mistreat their slaves without reason.

Before Ancel could see much else, one of the Regent’s men pulled open the back of the wagon, urging them all out. Ancel squinted at the sudden influx of light but didn’t hesitate to climb out, shivering a little as his bare feet touched the cold ground. His muscles ached with cramps after so long spent sitting huddled in the same position but he forced himself to stand up as tall as he could while he watched the Vaskians walk closer.

He tilted his chin up and projected as much confidence and strength as he could, watching out of the corner of his eye as Mathe did the same. Jean, for his part, affected a look that was somewhat bashful but curious. It was a risky strategy, one that could draw in a man inclined to exploit weakness. Though sometimes it could entice a man who fancied himself a protector, too. Jean certainly seemed to have caught the eye of one of the giant leather-clad men. 

Theo sniffled pitifully and Georgie stepped closer to him, pressing their shoulders together.

Ancel took in the scene before him as quickly as he could, knowing that the next few moments would likely determine his fate for the foreseeable future. The Vaskians were all dressed similarly, talking and laughing amongst each other as they inspected their _gifts._ But if Ancel’s time with Berenger had taught him anything, it was how to take the measure of horseflesh.

One of the men was holding the reins of a horse that seemed finer than the others. Once Ancel started paying more attention to him he saw the shrewd glint in his eyes, the other small marks that set him apart from the rest. His beard was long and braided and he had tattoos covering the entirety of his bare arms rather than the smaller marks of the others. The man was the chieftain- Ancel was sure of it.

Once the men were close enough Ancel took a step forward, tilting his head up to stare into the chieftain’s face. “Boy,” he said, not looking away from the giant Vaskian. “What is your chieftain's name?”

The boy who had been translating seemed startled, but he looked up at the man Ancel had singled out and said something to him in rapid Vaskian. 

“Halfdan,” the man answered, his voice rough. 

“Halfdan,” Ancel repeated. “Ancel. At your service.” He smirked before stepping forward and leaning up on his tip-toes to press a kiss to Halfdan’s lips.

The Vaskian froze in surprise and within the next instant Ancel was pushed back by a hand on his throat, holding tight but not choking, though the threat was there. Ancel forced himself to keep smiling, hoping his gamble had paid off.

Halfdan said something, not looking away from Ancel’s face. But he was grinning, so surely that was an encouraging sign? The way Halfdan ran his eyes down Ancel’s body confirmed it. Ancel might not know Vaskian culture, but he knew men well enough.

“He asks if you are red everywhere,” the translator said, “or just on your head.”

“It’s easy enough to check,” Ancel said with a wink, lowering his hands to pull at the hem of his tunic in what he hoped was a suggestive manner.

The boy translated and Halfdan laughed, letting go of Ancel’s throat.

“He says you ride with him,” the boy said.

“Good,” Ancel said, as haughtily as he could manage. “What is your name?”

“Roux,” the boy said.

“Tell them-” Ancel glanced back at the others. Jean was blushing prettily as the Vaskian who seemed to fancy him ran his fingers carefully through his blond curls. Mathe was defiant but not afraid, staring down the raiders before them. The others, though…

“That one,” Ancel said, pointing to Theo. “He’s got an… unfortunate ailment. The details of which aren’t fit for polite company. For their own health, your men best leave him be. And the other… he’s good with horses, but not much else, if you get my meaning.” He leaned in a little to whisper conspiratorially. “He’s a bit slow. Not so good with… washing.”

Roux frowned in confusion but nodded, relaying Ancel’s words to the men around them.

One of the Vaskians who’d been staring lustfully at Theo scowled and turned his attention elsewhere, leaving the boy sagging against Georgie with relief.

“So- we’re all square here?” one of the Regent’s soldiers asked.

Halfdan waited for the translation before nodding and setting his giant hand on the back of Ancel’s neck to push him forward towards his horse.

Ancel half expected to be thrown over the saddle like luggage, but instead Halfdan took him by the waist and lifted him up into the saddle before mounting behind him. Ancel took hold of the pommel for balance as Halfdan took the reins, caging him in, and kicked his horse into a canter.

Like this, trapped on horseback with Halfdan’s sweaty bulk behind him and his arms around him, Ancel felt more claustrophobic than he’d felt in the wagon. He ignored his pounding heartbeat and sweaty palms, shutting his eyes against the dizzying sight of the forest speeding past him.

He took deep breaths and tried to let his body relax and move with the horse, like Berenger had taught him. Those riding lessons didn’t seem like such an awful waste of time anymore. The physical strain of it was enough distraction that he didn’t have to think about Halfdan’s beard scratching the back of his neck, or his breathing at his ear.

After an hour or so of riding Halfdan muttered something in Vaskian and took one hand off the reins to cover Ancel’s eyes.

There were sounds in the distance, laughter and drumming. It got steadily closer until Halfdan pulled his hand from Ancel’s face and he saw they were in a camp. There was a bonfire in the center surrounded by animal skins. Beyond the circle of light stood rawhide tents and horse pens, and everywhere there were Vaskian warriors, easily three dozen of them.

Halfdan pulled his horse to a stop and announced something to his men. They all laughed, the sound of it making Ancel’s ears ring. He felt dizzy as Halfdan dismounted and dragged Ancel from the saddle, pulling him over to a makeshift throne by the fire made of animal pelts.

Roux, the boy who’d been translating, was nowhere in sight. With no one to ask what he should be doing, Ancel simply knelt at Halfdan’s side on the dirt, waiting as the others arrived.

The sun was starting to set, turning the camp into a dance of shadows as the fire flickered in the middle of it all. Halfdan ordered his men around as they dismounted and unpacked. Georgie and Theo were led away towards the horse pens while Mathe and Jean were brought over to sit by the fire. Jean seemed to have his Vaskian thoroughly enchanted already. When an interloper reached out to pinch Jean’s ass, his Vaskian slapped the offending hand away and bared his teeth in a growl.

Mathe was in the process of playing three men off each other while smiling coquettishly, so Ancel supposed he was doing alright for himself for now.

Ancel watched as the Vaskians set up a spit over the fire and started passing around some foul-smelling liquor. No one offered any to him, which he supposed was just as well. He doubted the alcohol would do any good for his pounding head or roiling stomach. He wasn’t sure if it was hunger or nausea that had his gut twisted into knots, but when Halfdan handed him a charred piece of meat, eating didn’t seem to help at all.

Halfdan ate and drank, holding court among his bawdy men as they celebrated. Ancel had no way to know what it was they were celebrating and he didn’t care. The smoke from the fire made his throat dry and his eyes sting, and every moment that passed made it harder and harder to stay sitting still. 

Jean’s man left the circle of fire first, holding Jean gallantly by the hand in the Veretian courting style. Clearly Jean had taught him well in the short time they’d spent together. Mathe was next- one of the men he’d been flirting with drawing him away into the darkness.

Ancel shifted restlessly, trying not to be nervous as he waited for Halfdan to finally claim him. Every moment that passed had Ancel fretting as Halfdan simply kept drinking and joking around with his men. Had Halfdan lost interest in him so soon? 

Maybe Ancel would be given to the others instead. To pass around and use like a plaything. There were so many. Ancel couldn’t bear the thought of _dozens-_

He forced himself to take a deep breath and push the thought away. He would belong to the chieftain alone, not to the whole camp. To think otherwise was unbearable.

If he’d been in Vere he would have pushed and flirted, affected a pout and whined for his master to feed him a sweet, give him a gift, take him to bed. Here, everything was different and he didn’t know the rules. Halfdan had seemed to appreciate his boldness earlier, but now he was drunk and full, laughing with his men. If Ancel had at least known the language he might have been able to better judge the situation and act accordingly. For now, all he could do was wait.

The feeling of Halfdan’s hand falling heavy and possessive over the back of his neck was a relief.

He stood and followed as Halfdan half-led, half-dragged him to a tent. It was bigger than the others, though not big enough to stand up in, and probably nicer too. Ancel thought wryly that it was a sign of how far he’d fallen that he considered a smelly pile of furs thrown over the cold ground a _luxury._

Ancel laid down on his back, leaning up on his elbows as he watched Halfdan follow without bothering to take off his boots. Halfdan said something in stumbling Vaskian. Ancel didn’t know the words but he knew the tone well enough. He pulled off his tunic and threw it aside, wondering how this would go.

Halfdan grinned and reached out, shoving Ancel in the side.

Ancel got the wordless message, moving so he was on his hands and knees. That was his preferred position anyway, all the better to not look at whoever was fucking him. It made it easier to fake pleasure too, though Ancel didn’t think that would be necessary this time around.

It took a long moment of shuffling around before Halfdan settled behind him, but after that it thankfully went quickly enough. Halfdan had slicked his cock with oil at some point and Ancel forced himself to relax as the Vaskian pushed inside. He winced at the burning stretch- Halfdan was big, bigger than Droet had been. At least he wasn’t so big as the Prince’s slave, so Ancel could thank his blessings for that.

Halfdan made an appreciative noise before slapping Ancel on the thigh, so Ancel spread his legs wider. Halfdan’s hand came down on the back of his neck again, pushing his face into the furs. Ancel might have laughed at the reminder of Louans- that contract seeming a lifetime ago- but that was when Halfdan started fucking him in earnest and his breath caught in his throat.

Ancel shut his eyes and breathed through it, waiting for it to be over. Halfdan seemed pleased enough without Ancel faking any moans so he didn’t bother, staying quiet until Halfdan finished inside him.

The giant man rolled off with a satisfied groan and Ancel let himself collapse to the furs, trying not to think about the ache in his knees, his ass, his head. He wondered if there was a cloth, or maybe a basin of water that he could use to clean up with. It was too dark in the tent to see anything but the outline of a haphazardly discarded sword.

Halfdan murmured something sleepily and Ancel startled when the man wrapped a giant arm around his waist, pulling him backwards so he was pressed to Halfdan’s chest. His beard was scratchy against the back of Ancel’s neck, damp from when he’d spilled liquor in it earlier. His body radiated heat like a furnace which Ancel supposed was fine, given the chill in the air.

When Halfdan started snoring, Ancel gave up on the idea of finding a cloth to clean up with and sighed, shifting a little to try and move out from under Halfdan’s arm. It tightened around him like a vice and Halfdan grumbled in his sleep. Ancel didn’t try moving again.

He wondered if this was what it felt like to be an animal caught in a trap- only to push the thought away as being unnecessarily maudlin. 

Mathe and Theo were off somewhere fucking nobodies while Ancel belonged to the chieftain. Given his current situation, that was the best he could hope for. 

He’d been having trouble sleeping lately, and now with Halfdan’s snoring in his ear and his arm a crushing weight around his waist, Ancel didn’t bother. He stared up at the ceiling and pretended he could see the stars beyond it. He waited for the sun to rise, and for the first day of his new life to begin.

* * *

At dawn Halfdan jerked and muttered something, shoving at Ancel and pointing towards the opening of the tent. The message was clear enough- _get out._

Ancel grabbed his tunic and hastily pulled it on before climbing outside, blinking at the brightness. He stood and looked around until he saw the Vaskian slave, Roux, coming towards him. Mathe and Jean were trailing after him, Jean looking to be in a significantly better mood than Mathe did, though that was nothing new.

“Come,” Roux said and Ancel fell into step behind him.

“Where are we going?” Ancel asked.

“Stream,” Roux said. “To wash.”

“How do you say wash in Vaskian?”

Roux looked startled before giving Ancel a tentative smile and answering. Ancel copied the guttural syllables as best he could. “And- water. How do you say water?”

Roux answered, and that time Mathe and Jean followed along when Ancel repeated the word a few times to make sure he had it. They quizzed Roux as they walked to the stream and washed in the frigid waters, their teeth chattering too hard to repeat the words.

“How do you say cock?” Mathe asked while they changed into the clothes Roux had brought for them. A simple shirt, roughly-made trousers. No shoes. Ancel wrinkled his nose at that but now wasn’t the time to complain. He’d make his desires known once his position at Halfdan’s side was more secure, not now.

Roux answered dutifully and Jean laughed as he put together his first ever Vaskian sentence- _“Dorak has big cock.”_

“Suck up,” Mathe said, shoving him playfully in the side while Jean laughed again.

Ancel didn’t join in the merriment, reciting Vaskian words to himself under his breath as he pushed his fingers through his damp roughly-shorn hair in an attempt to neaten it.

Morning ablutions finished, Roux took them back to camp and explained their chores. It seemed they weren’t only to be bed boys. They had to fetch water and take care of the horses, help pack and unpack the camp for traveling, prepare the meals. There were a handful of other slaves to help with the tasks in addition to Theo and Georgie, but even so the thought of it was daunting. Ancel had barely done an honest day’s work in his life. All he knew was the palace and the brothel, and before that- juggling and performing magic tricks on the streets for pocket change.

He’d never cooked for himself, nor had to beat out furs or haul around sacks of provisions. The only thing he _had_ done was brush down Ruby and clean her hooves the one and only time Berenger had insisted on teaching him how to do it.

By midday Ancel’s back was aching and his fingers cramped, his feet hurting from walking around barefoot over rough ground. Hunger was a dull ache in his gut, made ever sharper when he and the other slaves were tasked with serving the midday meal. More charred meat along with strong tea brewed in a communal pot. Roux poured it into a pitcher and handed it over for Ancel to bring around to the men seated around the fire.

The pitcher was half empty and Ancel’s arms crying out in protest when one of the men grabbed him around the waist and pulled him into his lap, laughing as he slipped his hand under Ancel’s shirt. Ancel yelped in surprise to the sound of more laughter. The man was trying to work Ancel’s trousers open and Ancel knew he wouldn’t be able to fight his way out of his hold.

He elbowed the man in the throat before dumping the remains of the hot tea into his lap.

The Vaskian howled in pain and outrage and Ancel scrambled away from him, panting. No one else moved from their seats as the man gave chase, grabbing his wrist and yanking. Ancel fell, _hard,_ his head bouncing off the ground and making him see stars. While he was too stunned to move the man cursed and straddled him, pressing his hands down to the ground.

Ancel screamed, twisting to try and knee him in the balls.

Halfdan’s voice booming through the camp made everything stop and the man atop Ancel froze before scrambling away at another shouted command. Before he knew it, Roux was at his side, helping him sit up.

“He asks what happened,” Roux said quietly.

Ancel winced as a wave of dizziness passed over him, his vision darkening at the edges. He fought through it, forcing himself to stay awake. “He tried to touch me,” he muttered.

Once Roux finished translating, Halfdan simply raised an eyebrow as if to say _so?_

Ancel scowled up at him. “Do you let all your men touch your things?” he demanded. “Would you let them fuck your wife, too?”

Roux’s face paled. “You do not wish for me to say that.”

Ancel didn’t know if he did or didn’t, but he kept glaring up at Halfdan, who said something sharply to Roux. The Vaskian slave shot a glance at Ancel before muttering something under his breath.

The camp fell silent in an instant and Ancel shivered, doubt filling his gut like ice.

He flinched when Halfdan reached for him, hooking two fingers into his collar and dragging him up to stand as easily as picking up a rag doll. He stared into Ancel’s eyes for a long moment before casually backhanding him over the face. If it weren’t for Halfdan’s fingers still holding tight to his collar he would have fallen.

 _“Lishonok,”_ Halfan said, his tone almost fond. The next time he raised a hand to him it was to carefully wipe a bit of dirt off Ancel’s cheek. He said something else before pushing Ancel backwards into Roux’s arms, waiting behind him so he wouldn’t fall again.

Ancel could only stare as Halfdan rounded on the man who’d tried to touch him and punched him soundly in the jaw.

“He says you are like a little fox,” Roux said quietly. “Vicious when cornered. He likes that. No one else will try to touch you now. But if you raise a hand to any of the men again, he will whip you as punishment and let the man use your mouth as compensation. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Ancel managed through the ache in his jaw.

“Come,” Roux said. “I will take you to rest.”

Ancel was glad for Roux’s arm around his back as they walked back to Halfdan’s tent. There was a familiar ringing in his ears that he hadn’t heard for at least a week. It helped block out some of the sounds of the camp.

“You are very clever,” Roux said as he helped him lie down.

“I certainly used to think so,” Ancel muttered, pressing his smarting cheek to the furs. He felt like he might vomit but he pushed back the urge. He didn’t want to anger Halfdan again.

“Hm,” Roux hummed. “When Halfdan returns, tell him _izvini._ It means I am sorry.”

“Maybe I’ll tell him he has a big cock instead,” Ancel said and Roux let out a startled laugh.

“Do not be too clever,” Roux said. “That is how you make trouble for yourself.”

“Believe me,” Ancel whispered, closing his eyes against the way the tent was spinning around him. “I know.”


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

Roux brought Ancel some broth for dinner, which he choked down dutifully. He was allowed to rest again afterwards, and eventually Halfdan came back to the tent and fucked him, during which Ancel managed not to vomit.

While he lay awake that night once more, his thoughts drifted idly. In the distance he could hear the sound of Jean’s laughter. He could hear other sounds, too. Grunts, a breathy moan. Ancel couldn’t be sure who they belonged to, but he thought it probably wasn’t Theo. He’d be crying.

In the morning Halfdan pushed him out of the tent and he went back to the cold stream to wash and did his chores along with the others. They packed up the camp and moved further up the mountain, Ancel riding in front of Halfdan on his shaggy stallion. They unpacked the camp. They ate. Hafldan fucked him and he lay awake after, counting the seconds until sunrise.

So it went, days and nights, the same routine. By the end of the first week Ancel had a rudimentary grasp of the language. Good enough to ask for a blanket at night. By the end of the second week he had a pair of boots- if tanned hides wrapped around his feet and held together by leather cord could be called boots. It was still better than any of the other slaves had. A perk of belonging to the chieftain. A luxury.

Sometimes Halfdan would take some of his warriors and leave for a few days, coming back weary and bloodied. They always drank those nights, and when Halfdan wasn’t too drunk to get it up he was rough.

But he wasn’t intentionally cruel- simply thoughtless. It was still better than the brothel in Sanpelier. It was just one man. Just once per night. And sometimes Halfdan brought back baubles for him. _Gifts,_ of a sort.

Once he brought back a pair of socks, still stained with gore. Ancel washed them thoroughly in the stream for over an hour and tried not to think about what had happened to their previous owner before putting them on. Once he brought back a gold hoop earring, still threaded through a severed ear.

Halfdan seemed particularly proud of that one as he presented it with a toothy grin, so Ancel forced a smile and wore that, too.

Halfdan taught him to ride bareback, laughing at the way Ancel desperately clutched the mane of his grumpy stallion, grimacing with each step the horse took. When he inevitably fell and dislocated his shoulder, Halfdan was uncharacteristically apologetic as he reset it and carried him back to the tent, letting him rest until dinner. He gave him some of the strong Vaskian liquor that night. Later, when Ancel was dizzy and pleasantly numb as he went to pull open the laces of his trousers with clumsy fingers, Halfdan shook his head and bid him to lay down, stroking Ancel’s hair until he fell asleep.

It was the first full night of sleep he’d gotten since Arles and Ancel felt almost happy the next morning as he fetched water and helped the other slaves start breakfast. Of course, the rest of the day proceeded as usual and soon his good humor started to fade, disappearing completely when he thoughtlessly spilled some ale and got a slap from Halfdan in response.

It wasn’t the life he’d envisioned for himself but it wasn’t bad, exactly. Every time Ancel wondered about alternatives his thoughts faltered at the thought of escape.

Halfdan slept soundly when he was drunk, and he always left his weapons unattended. It wouldn’t be so difficult to steal a knife and some provisions, slip away into the darkness.

But then what?

Ancel couldn’t take a horse- they were the difference between life and death in the mountains and were guarded too closely. He’d have to go on foot through the forest, alone in the dark. For how long?

He didn’t know where they were, how close they were to Vere. He’d grown up in the city, and for all the skills he’d recently learned- cooking and cleaning, mending clothes and maintaining equipment- he didn’t know how to hunt or make shelter, how to survive in the wilderness. 

To make matters worse- it would be winter soon. The nights were already getting so cold it was nearly unbearable without Halfdan beside him, and when Ancel woke at dawn to get started on his chores there was frost on the leaves, on the grass. He’d likely freeze to death before he made it out of the mountains.

And even if he made it back, what life was there for him? He couldn’t exactly return to court, wouldn’t be able to find a nobleman to take him as a pet either. They were all in the Regent’s pocket now.

Maybe he could find a decently rich merchant, but with the state he was in it didn’t seem likely. Ancel didn’t have a looking glass but he didn’t need one to know he’d lost weight and that he probably had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. He didn’t need a looking glass to know that his roughly cut hair and collection of cuts and bruises was hideous. The only reason Halfdan even wanted him was because he was a barbarian who didn’t know any better. 

No discerning gentleman of quality would want Ancel now- not before a few weeks of good food and sleep, a decent haircut, new clothes and jewelry. None of which he was likely to get if he had to go back to living like a rat in a gutter.

Perhaps he could make his way to Patras and try to build a life for himself there instead. Or Akielos. But he didn’t know the language, and even if he did- he knew the life that awaited him there. Another street, another brothel.

What was the point? What was the point of struggling just to be miserable in a different place, in a different way. It hardly seemed worth it.

At least with Halfdan he was clothed and fed, owned by one man instead of many. That was the best he could hope for, in this lifetime or any other. Sad, how the dream of jewels had faded in favor of the dream of soap and soft linens, a gentle touch and an approving look. Maybe that was what he should have wanted all along and his selfishness and greed had led him astray. Maybe Halfdan, in his own strange way, was a blessing.

Ancel still couldn’t sleep through the night, too restless with Halfdan’s snoring at his ear and his heat at his back. But Halfdan had grown so used to him that it wasn’t hard to slip away without waking him anymore. And he was the chieftain’s personal slave- no man would stop him if he chose to wander the camp by moonlight.

Sometimes he found it comforting to do just that, leaving the light of the ever-burning campfire and finding a quiet private place to sit and stare up at the stars as they made their slow progress across the sky.

That was what he was doing when he heard the breaking of a branch and jerked around to look- nervous as he peered out into the darkness.

“Fuck,” Mathe said, stepping into the clearing. “It’s you.”

Ancel frowned as he took in the sight of the other slave. He was fully dressed down to a pair of too-large boots. Ancel had no idea where he’d gotten them from- he hadn’t had boots earlier that day. There was a fur hide tied around his shoulders and a bag slung over his back.

“What are you doing?” Ancel asked, even as he knew. Mathe was running away.

“What do you think?” Mathe said, glancing back over his shoulder. “Same thing you should be doing. Same thing you _would_ be doing, if you hadn’t gone native.”

Ancel frowned, his breathing speeding up. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his palms getting sweaty with nerves. “I- I haven’t-”

“Then come with me,” Mathe whispered. “We can go together. I brought enough food to last us a week, maybe, and we can keep each other warm at night. The others are dumb as bricks, but you- you’re clever. We could do it, you and me.”

Ancel’s breath caught in his throat. “I can’t,” he said at last. “I- I belong to Halfdan now.” It wasn’t much of a life but it was _something._ It was better than dying in the gutter or starving to death in the mountains. It was better than getting caught and dragged back to face Halfdan’s rage.

“You stupid fuck,” Mathe hissed, grabbing Ancel by the front of his shirt. “You’re not serious. You’re really going to stay here? With _him?”_

“What else am I supposed to do?” Ancel hissed back, pushing him away while Mathe stared at him incredulously.

“Anything!” Mathe said, throwing up his arms. “What did you want, before all this? What were you doing it for?”

“I- I don’t-”

“I wanted to open up a shop of my own,” Mathe said. “I just wanted- I just needed the money, and I had no other way to get it. Not until I met Droet. I could have left before you came along, you know. I should have, I had enough by then. But I got greedy and I waited too long. I’m not making that mistake again.”

Ancel could only stare, Mathe’s words not quite registering. He’d only ever wanted the money, the safety of it. The security of it. He’d never really considered an _after,_ a cause other than having more than he had.

“Come with me,” Mathe tried again, “before the snows come and you’re well and truly stuck here. Before you’re trapped for good.”

Ancel shook his head. He didn’t have Mathe’s conviction, didn’t have a dream to drive him forward. All he had was fear- the fear of falling further than he already had. 

He’d never been a coward before. But that had been before.

“I can’t,” Ancel said.

Mathe bared his teeth in an ugly scowl. “Fine. Are you going to tattle on me?”

“No,” Ancel said.

“Fine,” Mathe said. “Tell the others-” he paused and shrugged with a grin. “You know what? Fuck it. Don’t tell them shit, I don’t care anymore.”

“Don’t go north,” Ancel said as Mathe got ready to keep walking. 

He was suddenly exhausted. It felt like his heart was aching and he didn’t know why. “Halfdan put another scout on watch north of camp, to keep an eye on the game trails. Go south instead. Draun is on watch and he’s probably piss drunk by now.”

Mathe seemed taken aback, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Finally he nodded tightly, and offered a small smile. “Thanks,” he whispered.

Ancel watched him go, confused and sick to his stomach. It had been a long time since he’d thought more than one or two days ahead, but now his life stretched out in front of him like a dusty road that led nowhere.

* * *

The camp was in an uproar in the morning. They’d noticed Mathe was gone.

Halfdan was furious as he sent out search parties and Ancel found himself shaking as he went about his daily chores, trying to keep his head down as he prayed that Mathe would make it.

They dragged him back by sundown, battered and bloody, one of his eyes swollen shut and his hands tied behind his back. He hadn’t gotten very far at all.

Halfdan grinned as he wound rope around Mathe’s neck before throwing the end of it over the branch of a near-by tree, adjusting the length and tying it off so Mathe had to stand up on his toes so he wouldn’t choke.

Ancel felt oddly disconnected from the scene as he watched Mathe gasping for breath, tears pouring down over his face. Theo was crying too and Georgie took hold of his hand, squeezing hard enough his knuckles were white.

 _“What- what are they doing?”_ Jean asked Dorak, his giant Vaskian lover.

Dorak shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. He was one of the few tribesmen who didn’t seem to take much pleasure in the scene playing out before him. _“He will tire,”_ he said quietly, but his words carried through the clearing- silent except for Mathe’s whimpers. _“And when he tires, he will die.”_

 _“He learned his lesson,”_ Ancel said, turning to Halfdan before he’d made the decision to speak. Halfdan looked down at him, his expression unreadable. _“He learned his lesson. Please- he won’t do it again. You don’t have to do this.”_

Halfdan reached out to stroke Ancel’s face. It might have felt like a tender touch had he not used that same hand to string Mathe up just a moment ago. _“He is an example,”_ Halfdan said. _“For you and the others. He dies.”_

Ancel glanced back at Mathe, the pure panic in his eyes. _“Then kill him,”_ he burst out angrily. _“If you want to kill him, kill him! This is sick!”_

Halfdan chuckled. _“Sweet Lishonok.”_

A few of the other men laughed too. Halfdan seemed deep in thought before he grinned and unsheathed his dagger, pushing it into Ancel’s hands. Ancel stared down at the blade, confused.

 _“You do it, then,”_ Halfdan said. _“If it bothers you so much.”_

Ancel nearly dropped the dagger in shock. The camp was silent. He glanced over at Mathe, face red as he struggled to keep his balance so he could continue to draw breath.

 _“Go on,”_ Halfdan said, pushing him in the back to prompt him to walk closer.

Ancel drifted over to stand next to Mathe. His body didn’t feel like his own. He was gripping the hilt of the knife so hard his hand ached, and through it all he just felt like he was in a horrible dream.

“P-please,” Mathe forced out, but Ancel didn’t know what it was he was pleading for. To spare him? To kill him?

Surely a quick death would be better than this drawn out torture. Ancel swallowed. He’d never stabbed anyone before, certainly never _killed_ anyone. He didn’t know how long he stood there, but he was distantly aware of Halfdan starting to rhythmically stamp his foot as he chanted Ancel’s name, the other Vaskians joining him in an ominous chorus.

Except it wasn’t his name, it was Halfdan’s nickname for him. _Lishonok._ Little fox.

“Please,” Mathe whispered, eyes wide with terror.

Ancel didn’t know how much longer he stood there before he felt a hand on his shoulder, Halfdan roughly shoving him aside.

 _“Weak,”_ he said disdainfully. _“You disappoint me, Lishonok.”_

He unsheathed his sword with a scowl, raising it to strike Mathe down.

Ancel was frozen as he watched. There was a strange whistling sound in the distance and he was sure it must have been in his own mind even though he’d not heard it before. Something warm splattered his face and he flinched.

Halfdan staggered backwards, eyes wide with shock. He tried to say something but it came out as a gurgle around the arrow embedded in his throat.

He dropped his sword and fell to his knees. The clearing erupted into chaos as strange warriors burst out of the darkness. Ancel stared at where Halfdan had fallen and watched the life drain from his eyes.

Someone screamed, the sound of it rising to join the clash of steel against steel and shouted orders. Ancel was frozen until he felt a sharp pain in his shin and turned to see Mathe, glaring at him as he continued to struggle to stay on his toes. Somehow during the chaos, he’d gathered the strength to _kick_ him.

Ancel was still holding the dagger. He surged forward and gritted his teeth as he sawed through the rope tying Mathe to the tree. When it snapped Mathe sank to his knees, Ancel kneeling with him to start working through the ropes binding his wrists.

“Fuck,” Mathe breathed out, gasping in huge lungfuls of air. Once his hands were free Ancel looked up to try and make sense of the scene. It was all a mess of fighting and darkness but he thought he could make out rival Vaskian warriors fighting the ones from their tribe.

“We have to _run,”_ Mathe said, taking Ancel’s hand and dragging him up, away. No one stopped them- the warriors were too busy with each other to bother with a pair of slaves.

The forest was dark but they made their way through it as fast as they could, running recklessly through the underbrush. It lasted five minutes, maybe ten, and then there were hoofbeats bearing down on them and Mathe jerked to a sharp stop as two mounted warriors moved to cut them off in a clearing. 

One of them climbed off his horse and came closer, his weapons sheathed.

“Slaves,” the warrior said in heavily accented Veretian. It was a woman’s voice. Ancel wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Come now. We will not hurt you.”

There was no point in running anymore so Ancel followed her back to camp, still holding Mathe’s hand.

It was a carnage. A few of the tents were on fire and the enemy tribesmen were rummaging through the ones left intact. There were bodies strewn about on the ground, and though these were men that Ancel knew by now, had spent weeks with, he felt little as he walked past them. Not all of the tribesmen were dead- a few were kneeling off to the side with their hands tied behind their backs. Dorak was one of them, kneeling silently while Jean knelt beside him and cried, his arms wrapped protectively around Dorak’s shoulders.

The other slaves were all unhurt, lined up before the fire while one of the women went down the line, inspecting them. Roux was practically beaming as Mathe and Ancel came to stand beside him.

“What the fuck’s your problem?” Mathe muttered hoarsely.

“They are women,” Roux said brightly. “This is good. This is a good tribe. Our lives will be better now.”

Mathe scoffed and rolled his eyes.

One of the women was inspecting Georgie, turning his face to the light. _“This one?”_ she asked one of her companions.

The other woman frowned thoughtfully. _“No,”_ she said. _“Brown eyes.”_

They continued down the line until they reached Ancel. The first woman took his chin and looked at him before breaking out into a smile. _“This one,”_ she told her companion proudly. _“He is red as flame.”_

 _“How can you tell under all the dirt?”_ the other woman muttered.

 _“I can tell,”_ the first woman said. _“I will take him now. You will follow with the others?”_

 _“Go then,”_ the second woman said with a shrug.

“You come with me,” the first woman said in rough Veretian, taking Ancel by the wrist and pulling him over to a fine gray mare.

He mounted without protest, holding tight to the pommel as she sat behind him. She made a clicking sound at the back of her throat and they were off, riding through the night.

Ancel wasn’t sure how long it lasted before they were riding into another Vaskian camp, this one larger and far more luxurious. It didn’t escape his notice that it was mostly populated with women.

His gut churned unpleasantly. He had no idea how to deal with women. And he’d nearly figured out Halfdan, too. It seemed all that work was for nothing, now he was dead.

He followed as the woman dismounted and took him into a grand tent, more than tall enough to stand up in. There was a rug covering the ground and furniture too. There were chairs, a few braziers casting light and warmth into the intimate space. There was a man in a dark fur cloak sitting at a desk, his back to the entrance.

 _“Is this him?”_ the woman asked.

The man tensed and turned.

Ancel wasn’t quite sure that what he was seeing was real. Surely he must have been hit on the head a few too many times and now he was seeing things that weren’t there. It was really just a matter of time. Maybe he’d died during the raid and this was just some joke of an afterlife.

It didn’t make any sense. None of it made any sense. 

The man stood and took a step closer, his expression stricken. 

_“Yes,”_ Berenger breathed out, his Vaskian accented with soft Veretian vowels. _“It’s him.”_


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

“Ancel,” Berenger said.

Ancel blinked up at him, not sure what he was supposed to do now.

Berenger took off his cloak and draped it over Ancel’s shoulders, the weight of it a shock. It smelled of soap and fresh air and Ancel drew it closed over his chest. It was Vaskian tradition to gift a cloak as a marriage offer. If the offer was accepted, the recipient gifted the giver a blade.

Ancel didn’t have a blade. He hadn’t held anything sharp in months, not until Halfdan gave him his dagger so he could kill Mathe. He’d lost it during their reckless stumble through the woods, before the women had caught them.

 _“Ancel,”_ Berenger whispered, raising his shaking hands to cup Ancel’s face. It was shocking how _warm_ he was. Warmer even than the cloak.

Ancel was fairly sure he wasn’t entirely in his right mind, but if there was one thing he knew it was that Berenger wasn’t proposing to him. 

Berenger. 

It still seemed too strange to be true. Was he an outlaw, running from Vere? A political prisoner?

“Why are you here?” Ancel managed to ask.

Berenger frowned. “I’m here to take you home.”

Home.

“But Halfdan is dead,” Ancel said dumbly.

Berenger’s face did something odd. Ancel didn’t think it was possible for him to look more devastated, but there it was. “No,” Berenger said. “I’m not-”

He closed his eyes and took a deep shuddering breath, pulling his hands away from Ancel’s face and stepping back. “I meant- I’m going to take you home to Vere. To Varenne.”

“Oh,” Ancel said. It still didn’t make any sense, but he supposed Berenger was his master now. Again. It wouldn’t do to make him angry. He didn’t think he’d fare very well if Berenger decided he was too much bother and left him with the women.

He _knew_ Berenger, didn’t he? Knew what buttons to push? Ancel struggled to remember but it felt so far away now. He couldn’t remember what Berenger liked, who he wanted Ancel to be. It wasn’t anything he could be. Not now. He didn’t have a linen tunic and he couldn’t remember the poetry. And he looked a mess, anyway. Berenger had liked his hair, he could remember that much. And now it was all hacked to pieces and all he had was his mouth and his ass, which Berenger had never seemed to care for in the first place.

He swallowed hard, trying to keep it together. He was so lost and confused. At least with Halfdan he knew where he stood, what to do.

He must have stayed silent too long because Berenger nodded once and breathed out a soft sigh. “You should rest,” he said. “I’m sure it’s been... a trying day. Kashel?”

“Yes,” the woman said.

Ancel jerked to look over at her. In his shock he’d forgotten she was there at all.

“I will take him to sleep,” she said. “Come.”

Ancel looked at Berenger once more before Kashel took his wrist and led him out into the camp and towards a smaller tent.

“Here,” she said, motioning towards the entrance. “Sleep now.”

She left and Ancel was left standing alone before the tent, Berenger’s cloak still wrapped around his shoulders.

There was nothing else to do, so Ancel moved to crawl into the tent. There was a pile of furs on the ground, thick and fresh smelling. He curled up on top of them with the cloak as a blanket. He hadn’t slept alone in so long now. He found himself missing Halfdan’s warmth, if not his snoring.

He wondered if Berenger might come to him, push open the flap of the tent’s entrance and come inside. If Berenger might push him to his belly and fuck him-

But no. He wouldn’t. Ancel remembered as much from before. He blinked slowly as he stared out into the darkness around him. He found himself at the mercy of a new master once more. An old master. There was little difference.

But at least with Berenger he wouldn’t get a slap for impudence. He would try again. He would try harder. Berenger wouldn’t give him up again.

* * *

By the time dawn came Ancel wasn’t sure if he’d slept or not. He felt exhausted as he left the tent, still clutching Berenger’s cloak closed over his shoulders.

The camp was bustling with activity and the organized chaos of it made Ancel’s head spin. This wasn’t like Halfdan’s camp- full of rowdy warriors and slaves pretending to be invisible. Here the warriors were women and the slaves didn’t wear collars. They seemed oddly cheerful as they went about their chores, laughing and talking easily with each other.

“Ancel!” he heard and turned to see Roux coming over with a grin. He took Ancel’s hand and led him over to a small fire on the edge of camp. Georgie and Theo were sitting there along with a few Vaskians Ancel didn’t know. Theo was smiling. Ancel had never seen him smile before.

Georgie gave him a cup of broth and Ancel sipped at it slowly, not sure how to take all the good cheer around him.

“Where’s Jean?” Ancel asked.

“He refuses to leave Dorak’s side,” Roux said, rolling his eyes. “They are disgusting. It will be fine- Dorak will pledge fealty to Halvik and she will keep him. He is big and good for breeding. He is a good warrior too. They will have a good life here.”

“And Mathe?” Ancel asked.

Roux wrinkled his nose. “He is lazy. Still sleeping.”

“Let him sleep,” Georgie said. “He’s been through a lot. We have some time before we leave, anyway.”

Ancel froze, his heart pounding. He glanced around the camp for Berenger but thankfully didn’t see him. He did notice the woman from last night, the one who’d brought him here. Berenger had called her Kashel.

Ancel shoved his half-finished broth towards Roux before standing and striding over to her. She was talking to a giant older woman but they paused when they saw him coming in favor of looking at him quizzically.

“Kashel?” Ancel asked.

“Yes?” she answered. The older woman crossed her arms over her chest and raised an expectant eyebrow.

“I need to wash,” Ancel said in a rush. “And fresh clothes. And a knife. And a looking glass, if you have one.”

 _“Demanding little thing,”_ the older woman grumbled before laughing and patting Kashel on the shoulder.

Ancel flushed and looked around the camp nervously. It was bad enough Berenger had seen the state he was in last night, but at least then it had been dark. He couldn’t stand the thought of Berenger seeing him in the light of day, like- like _this._ He probably still had Halfdan’s blood splattered over his face and he was wearing a tunic that hadn’t been washed in at least a week.

Berenger was used to him looking beautiful, face painted and body draped in jewels and silks. While it was true he didn’t mind when Ancel looked plain, that didn’t mean he’d like Ancel looking like something that had crawled out of the gutter.

 _“Here,”_ Ancel said as he raised shaking hands up to the earring Halfdan had given him, holding it forward like an offering. _“It is gold. It is worth all I asked for and more. Please.”_

 _“Keep your bauble,”_ Kashel said, clearly drawn aback. _“Come along.”_

She said something in sharp Vaskian to one of the servants before leading Ancel out of camp to a stream. There were a few women bathing there but they paid Ancel no mind. Someone brought over a bundle of cloth and some soap and Ancel hurried out of his clothes before plunging into the frigid water.

His teeth were chattering and his body quickly grew numb as he washed but he didn’t dare rush through the bath, soaping his hair twice with clumsy fingers before he’d managed to get out all the grease.

Halfdan hadn’t particularly cared, but Berenger was a different calibre of man. He was used to a different calibre of whores. He was used to refinement and fashionable dress, impeccable grooming. Not vacant-eyed slave boys who smelled of sweat and horse.

Kashel had left out fresh clothing and Ancel dried himself off before putting on a clean tunic and pair of trousers. There weren’t boots for him, so he’d have to make do with the makeshift ones from before. There was no looking glass either, but Kashel had left a dagger. He tried to catch his own reflection in it but the blade was too narrow. The stream wasn’t any use either, the water moving too quickly.

There were footsteps behind him and he looked up to see Mathe approaching, covering a yawn with the back of his hand. His face was puffy from his beating the day before, but otherwise he seemed to be in a fine mood. Which, for him, meant he was scowling slightly less than usual.

“Mathe,” Ancel burst out in relief.

“What,” Mathe said, peering at him with narrowed eyes. “Where did you get a knife from?”

“Get over here,” Ancel said. “I need your help.”

Mathe started leisurely removing his clothes, clearly here to bathe himself. “What’ll you give me for it?”

“Don’t be an ass,” Ancel said, pushing the dagger towards him hilt first. Mathe took it, clearly surprised. “How bad is my hair? Can you fix it?”

“Fix it?” Mathe asked.

“Please,” Ancel said, lowering his voice. “Berenger- he always liked my hair. Please help me.”

Mathe swallowed and Ancel knew he understood. “I can try to even it out a bit,” he muttered, taking the knife and running the fingers of his free hand through Ancel’s damp locks.

“If you do a good job I’ll give you my earring,” Ancel said with a relieved smile.

“You’ll give me the earring regardless,” Mathe said before leaning closer and getting started. Ancel closed his eyes as he waited, hoping it would be good enough, at least for now.

“It’s not that bad, really,” Mathe muttered. “I could braid it for you, it’s long enough.”

“Keep it simple,” Ancel said. “He likes- he liked it tied back.”

Mathe was silent as he worked, not teasing or complaining as he tried to even out Ancel’s mess of a haircut. He tied it back with a strip of cloth cut from Ancel’s tunic, tying it into a pretty bow. 

Ancel swallowed hard as he raised his hand to touch it.

“What’s the matter with you?” Mathe groused. “You look like someone pissed in your supper.”

“What if-” Ancel let out a shuddering breath, staring into the stream before him. “What if it’s not good enough,” he whispered. “What if I’m not- What if he decides he doesn’t want me.”

He yelped when Mathe tugged sharply on his hair, turning to glare at him.

Mathe was glaring too as he leaned closer. “You have a chance like all of us have only ever dreamed of,” he hissed. “So shut your fucking face, slap on a smile, and _make_ him want you.”

Mathe was right. Ancel took a deep breath and forced a smile.

“Good,” Mathe said, leaning away with a nod. He held his hand out and Ancel dropped the gold earring into Mathe’s palm.

Mathe squinted at it before grinning and putting it on. “Fuck, I feel almost human now.”

“Oh, is that what you are?” Ancel asked. He felt a bit better now too. “I thought you were a beast wearing a man’s skin. You’re certainly enough of a nightmare.”

Kashel returned before Mathe could answer, motioning for Ancel to join her. He rose to his feet and clutched Berenger’s cloak closed tighter over his chest. He felt sick with fear, which was stupid. He wasn’t afraid of _Berenger._

He was afraid of something else, something that seemed inevitable. He didn’t want to lose another master and have to start all over again. But he’d failed with Berenger before. He hadn’t been able to become what he wanted and Berenger had sent him away.

Kashel led him back to camp, where Berenger was talking with a few Veretian soldiers wearing blue livery decorated with golden starbursts. He broke off when he saw Ancel coming closer, his face unreadable.

Ancel dropped his eyes respectfully to the ground, and that was why he was surprised when Berenger reached out to take his hand.

“Ancel,” he said quietly.

Ancel looked up. He didn’t know what to say. They’d left things on such bad terms, but he didn’t have the words to explain himself or ask forgiveness, and Berenger didn’t ask.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, my lord,” Ancel lied.

Berenger’s eyebrows drew down in a frown, but it was gone so quickly Ancel wondered if he’d imagined it. 

“Your cloak, my lord,” Ancel said as he reached up to undo the fastenings of Berenger’s cloak.

“Keep it,” Berenger interrupted. He paused, staring at Ancel standing before him. “You don’t have to wear this anymore,” he said, his hand drifting up to cradle Ancel’s cheek for a moment before he unbuckled the leather collar around his throat.

Ancel swallowed as he raised his hand to touch his bare neck. He’d grown so used to the collar he’d forgotten he was wearing it. It felt so strange to have that weight lifted.

“I’ve had Ruby saddled for you,” Berenger said. “Do you remember Ruby?”

“Of course I remember Ruby,” Ancel said.

“Well,” Berenger said, looking away awkwardly. “Good. She’s missed you.” He led Ancel past the soldiers and over to the horses. Ruby was in the middle of grazing but she looked up at their approach. Ancel wasn’t sure if she’d missed him or not, but she was agreeable enough when he offered her his hand to sniff.

She was a fine horse, he understood that now in a way he hadn’t before. It was strange to think that she was _his,_ technically. Berenger’s first gift to him. She was probably worth more than Ancel was. Halfdan certainly would have thought so.

Berenger turned away to give orders to his men and Ancel stroked Ruby’s neck before climbing up into the saddle. She tossed her head and whickered quietly, restless to get going. Ancel was restless too, even as he felt like he was floating through everything happening around him.

At some point Berenger must have given the order to set off because soon their company was riding away from the village down a treacherous mountain path. Ruby really wasn’t the best mount for the terrain, the shaggy Vaskian horses better and sturdier on the rocky slopes. She moved confidently enough, completely unconcerned as she followed Berenger’s horse without needing much input from Ancel.

It was oddly calming. He felt safe in a way he never had on Halfdan’s stallion, always too worried the beast would try to bite him or throw him off just to be contrary.

By the time Berenger called them to a stop Ancel was surprised to note that it was growing dark. They stopped to make camp and Ancel dismounted, moving to unsaddle Ruby by force of habit. She butted her face into his chest while he pushed his fingers through her mane.

“You don’t have to do that if you don’t like,” Berenger said and Ancel startled. “I’ve been taking care of her,” Berenger continued. Ancel noticed he was holding a brush. “You never liked to- that is. Before, you didn’t…”

Ancel reached out to take the brush and turned away, starting to groom her after the day’s ride. “She’s mine,” he said, only to freeze uncertainly. “Isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Berenger said. “Yes, she is.”

Ancel nodded and continued, not saying anything else until Berenger finally took his leave. Ruby flicked her tail and watched him go as if she didn’t want him leaving, but otherwise she seemed content to be in Ancel’s care.

By the time he was finished, the fire was lit and the tents set up in orderly lines. Someone must have gone hunting because there was a brace of rabbits roasting over the fire. Georgie was talking excitedly to one of Berenger’s soldiers, Theo his ever-present shadow.

Mathe seemed in good spirits too. He’d singled out the most handsome man from Berenger’s retinue to flirt with and was sitting in his lap, trying to wheedle out a drink from his wineskin.

Berenger himself was sitting within the circle of firelight on an overturned log, going over a map with one of his men. They spoke quietly for a while before Berenger put the map away and the soldier went off to talk with a group of others, probably to organize their watch shifts.

Ancel took a deep breath, wiping his clammy palms on his trousers, and went to sit beside Berenger.

“Ancel,” Berenger said, his voice low and inviting.

Ancel licked his lips, not sure what to say or do now. He looked up to see Mathe across the fire, staring at him pointedly. He raised an eyebrow as if to say _well?_ and made a sort of shooing motion with his fingers.

 _Make him want you._ Right. It was simple enough, wasn’t it? He just had to figure out what Berenger wanted, and then give it to him.

Ancel looked up into Berenger’s eyes. They looked almost gold in the firelight. What did Berenger want? Why could he never just _say?_ Why did he have to be so impossible?

“Are you alright?” Berenger asked. He seemed nervous in a way Ancel wasn’t used to seeing him and suddenly he understood. The feeling of relief was immense. 

Berenger might not be so giant as Dorak, but the look in his eyes was similar enough. Berenger wanted to save him.

Ancel could give him that, easy as breathing. A week or two of pretending to be distraught, maybe three to be sure, followed by another week or so of pretending to lower his guard. Then there could be smiles and flirting, tentative touches. A stolen kiss and a whispered _I’ve never felt this way before_ and he’d have him. He could make Berenger feel like a hero if that was what he wanted. If he wanted, Ancel could make him feel like a king.

Berenger was still waiting for an answer and Ancel figured now would be a good time to burst into tears and fall into Berenger’s arms. His eyes stayed frustratingly dry, but maybe that was alright. If he was too dramatic he feared Berenger would see right through him, and then where would he be?

No, it was best to be careful. Subtle.

He didn’t make a show of himself, not now. He simply moved to press their sides together and lowered his head to lean against Berenger’s shoulder. He didn’t entirely mean to let out a pleased sigh when Berenger wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer, but it wouldn’t hurt the ruse so maybe that was just as well.

It was strange how easy it was to let himself relax into the touch. He felt oddly drowsy as he watched the fire, Berenger’s hand stroking his back hypnotically.

“You should eat something,” Berenger murmured after a while.

“Mm,” Ancel hummed. For the moment he didn’t want to move. “In a minute,” he whispered and closed his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think most have you have already read it by now, but for all you Jean/Dorak fans, I recently posted a companion fic about their first night together- [A road of our own](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189223/chapters/58263256)
> 
> :)

* * *

It took a week to reach Berenger’s fort in Varenne and by the end of it they were stopping in small town inns to spend the night. Berenger always got Ancel his own room, because of course he did. It was strange to sleep alone again after so long. Ancel wasn’t sure he liked it.

It had felt peaceful, before everything had happened. Now it just felt- odd. Tense. He couldn’t sleep at night for the strange feeling that filled him that someone would come in at any moment. It left him unsettled in the mornings, jumpy.

He didn’t think anyone noticed, and overall things with Berenger were going well. It wasn’t so difficult to remember how to be normal. Ancel’s new-found understanding and appreciation for horses certainly served him well. By the end of the week he’d managed two multiple-sentence conversations about horse tack and grooming. And he’d had shorter conversations about the weather too. One day soon he’d have to stage a breakdown over some sob story about how horrible Halfdan was, but he could wait until they reached the fort for that.

It was late afternoon when Berenger sent one of the soldiers ahead while the rest of the company continued at their normal pace. An hour later the road turned and the forest parted. Ancel’s breath caught in his throat as he found himself looking down into a valley below- acres of rich farmland, a small town in the distance, and at the head of it all- Berenger’s fort.

It looked as welcoming as it did imposing and Ancel’s heart started to beat faster in his chest.

There were farmers in the fields, bringing in the last of the Autumn harvest. They paused in their work to look at Berenger’s retinue, calling out friendly greetings when they recognized their Lord. Berenger nodded and greeted them in turn, sometimes using their names- which never failed to make them flush with pride.

Ancel had forgotten that about him, but now he saw the opportunity he’d missed before. He resolved to learn the names of all of Berenger’s servants, starting with the stable boys. Berenger would like it that Ancel was taking an interest.

It took less than an hour to ride through those familiar gates and when Ancel went to groom Ruby Berenger took his hand and pulled him gently away.

“They’ll take care of her,” he said, leading Ancel into the main part of the fort.

Ancel went along easily enough, shocked at how little the halls had changed in his absence. There were more servants now, perhaps, than there had been before. Otherwise, the fort was the same as it had been when he’d first arrived.

Berenger led the way to his chamber and they entered the shared sitting room, unchanged except for the fresh flowers in the vase.

“Your room,” Berenger said, motioning to the door that led to the bedroom Ancel had slept in during their time here together. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering some things for you, but if they’re not to your liking I can summon a tailor. And-” He broke off, looking off to the side awkwardly.

He sighed, his tone uncertain as he continued. “If there’s anything you might require- you may speak to me. Or to Parsins, if you’d prefer.”

“Thank you,” Ancel said. Berenger nodded awkwardly and left, leaving Ancel standing in the room alone.

For a moment he was at a loss. He trailed his fingers over the edge of the central table before reaching up to pluck one of the flower petals from the bouquet in the vase. It smelled sweet when he crushed it between his fingers.

He drifted over to the door to his room, opening it to peer inside. It was dark except for the fire that burned in the hearth, bathing the room in a soft glow. His bed was just as he remembered, made up with fresh linens with the down comforter pulled back invitingly. And best of all- there was a steaming tub waiting in the center of the room.

The man Berenger had sent ahead of them must have warned the servants of their coming. That was probably why Berenger hadn’t wanted him to brush down Ruby- he didn’t want the water growing cold.

Ancel dipped his fingers into it in wonder. He hadn’t had a proper hot bath in- it didn’t bear thinking about. He’d grown used to rushed baths in frigid streams and wiping himself down with wet cloths. There had been bathing chambers at the inns they’d stayed in over the past few nights, but they were public and Ancel had chosen to bathe as best as he could alone in his rooms.

He glanced over to the door nervously but decided the bath was too good to pass up. He didn’t think anyone would bother him, anyway. The servants were probably instructed to stay out and Berenger wouldn’t come to him now. He’d had plenty of chances on the road and still he maintained a careful distance.

Ancel breathed out all at once and practically tore off his travel-stained clothing, climbing into the bath with a groan. He’d nearly forgotten how _good_ this was. It was so _warm._ He let himself bask in it for a long moment before looking around for the soap.

There was a basket on the ground containing fragrant soaps and oils, all manner of fancy things he’d used before. He started with his hair, washing it thoroughly and perfuming it with his favorite rose-scented oil. It smelled heavenly and Ancel smiled before moving on to the rest of his body.

He paused when he reached his ankles and felt the scrap of silk tied around one of them. He’d forgotten it was there. It had been so long ago, and no one had seemed to notice, much less care. Hell, Halfdan usually didn’t even bother undressing him fully when they fucked, and the slaves hadn’t exactly spent time inspecting one another while they washed- all of them too busy rushing through their own ablutions.

Ancel’s breath caught as he worked open the knot in the silk, his fingers clumsy over the ruined fabric. Eventually it gave way and he raised the silk out of the water, unwrapping it carefully. What he saw inside made his heart sink.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to happen to a string of emeralds tied up in a dirty bit of silk, untouched for weeks and weeks. The stones were dull, the metal tarnished. There was dirt trapped in the settings and some were twisted, a few of the emeralds loose and chipped. It was ruined- utterly ruined. The lavish necklace Berenger had given him in Arles that he’d been so proud of was twisted beyond repair.

Ancel closed his eyes, shuddering in the bath for a long time as the water cooled around him. But then he gathered himself and closed the bit of silk once more, careful not to drop any of the jewels.

He rose from the water and dried himself off, setting the silk aside while he looked through the clothes in the wardrobe. They were simple but finely made, smelling of soap and cedar. He pulled on woolen socks and trousers, heeled riding boots that went to mid-calf and a white cotton shirt that was so soft against his skin it was like wearing a cloud. He considered the rest of the clothing- the jackets that were clearly to Berenger’s taste, simple and drab brown- and the fine wool sweaters that at least seemed to be in more interesting colors.

Ancel’s room was pleasantly warm but the rest of the fort wouldn’t be. The dining hall, where he figured dinner would be served in the next hour or so, was too large to ever be well heated. Even with the giant hearth behind the head table, Ancel had often found himself shivering in his silks.

He considered a delicate green sweater that would look good with his coloring before looking back at where he’d draped Berenger’s cloak over a chair. It would be warmer by far, and the dark fur would contrast well with his pale skin. And maybe it would please Berenger to see him wearing it.

Decision made, Ancel put it back on and went to stand before the large looking glass in the corner of the room.

He looked-

Ancel frowned. He looked-

Fine. Fine enough, considering. He’d lost weight and there was an unpleasant gauntness to his cheeks, dark circles under his eyes. His face looked awfully plain without paint, and though he’d noticed a few pots of it on the dressing table, he doubted he had the time to bother with it now. He was out of practice anyway, and he didn’t want to show up to dinner looking like a scarecrow.

His hair, at least, looked good. Mathe had done a good job evening it out and it was shining and thick as it fell in soft waves to his shoulders. Not as long as it had been before, of course, but there was nothing to be done about that now.

Ancel huffed out a sigh of annoyance before turning away. It was the best he could do so there was no sense being upset. He didn’t look _repulsive,_ and Berenger certainly didn’t seem to be particularly put off. That was all that mattered, anyway.

It was strange to walk through the familiar halls alone, his feet carrying him towards the dining hall by pure muscle memory. He made a point of nodding and smiling to all the servants he passed, most of them looking at him curiously.

Berenger was already sitting at the head table, talking to Parsins. He looked over and nodded when he saw Ancel enter and Ancel managed a small smile in return. He didn’t quite know what to say, but that was alright. He could afford to be distant for another week or two before he started trying to seduce Berenger in earnest. 

“I’ve had cook make your favorites,” Berenger said when Ancel sat down beside him.

“Thank you, my lord,” Ancel said, ducking his head as he waited for the food to be brought out, trying not to fidget. 

There was a basket of bread on the table, the slices still steaming where they lay arranged around a small pot of butter. More than anything Ancel wanted to grab a slice and tear into it, but no one else was eating yet so he balled his hands into fists over his thighs and stared down at his empty plate, a delicate bit of porcelain decorated with blue swirls that almost looked like flowers.

“Fresh from the oven,” Berenger said, sliding a generously buttered slice of bread onto his plate. “It’s best while it’s still warm.”

“Thank you my lord,” Ancel managed, flushing. Had Berenger noticed him eyeing the bread like a ravenous beast? What sort of impression was he making? He wasn’t used to being unsure about these things and it made him nervous.

He told himself it was fine as he forced himself to eat slowly, savoring every bite. By the time he finished, servants came out with the first course, saving Ancel from wondering if he’d look foolish taking more bread. The food came at a steady clip after that, course after course of delicious Veretian fare.

Ancel was hopelessly drowsy and stuffed full by the time they brought out sweet pastries dusted with sugar and drizzled with syrup. He managed to eat one before regretfully pushing his plate away, feeling a little sick to his stomach.

When it was all over Berenger stood and offered his arm which Ancel took gratefully, leaning heavily against his side as they walked back to their rooms.

There was a moment when they paused in their shared sitting room that Ancel felt he should say something, thank Berenger in some way. The words didn’t come and Berenger didn’t ask, so Ancel simply nodded and walked back to his own bedroom, sprawling over the bed with a quiet groan.

The sheets felt so soft against his face, and though the fire in the hearth had died down it still cast a pleasant glow through the room. Ancel blinked slowly as he watched the flames playing behind the grate. He didn’t have the energy to toe off his boots before drifting away.

* * *

When Ancel woke it was past dawn and his heartbeat spiked into fear for the split second it took him to remember where he was and where he wasn’t. There was no Halfdan here to push him out of bed, no chores to do that he knew of.

He was still in his clothes from last night but the bath was gone- replaced by a small basin of fresh water. It must have been cleared up during dinner. He thought he would have woken if someone had come in during the night.

He washed and dressed, pausing once more before the mirror before gathering the courage to venture out.

He stopped in to the kitchens first for breakfast, making a point of talking to the servants and learning their names, speaking briefly with Theo who was busy kneading bread dough in the corner. Afterwards Ancel wandered through the fort, wondering what it was he was meant to be doing now.

Without quite realizing it, he found himself down at the stables. The smell of horse- so odious and hated before- felt familiar and almost comforting now. He walked past the stalls and all the unfamiliar horses who looked at him curiously as he moved past.

“My lord?”

Ancel blinked in shock at the address and turned to see Georgie, watching him curiously from where he’d been mucking out one of the stalls. Georgie grinned once he realized who Ancel was and abandoned his work to walk closer.

“Look!” he said proudly, raising his foot. “Boots!”

“Yes,” Ancel said after a moment, not sure what Georgie was getting at.

Georgie laughed. “I’m sure it’s nothing to _you._ But I’ve been worried about frostbite for weeks now. I asked Halfdan for boots once, you know.”

“And?” Ancel asked, confused.

“And,” Georgie said with a scoff, “he told me if my feet were cold, I could walk through the fire.”

Ancel winced, unsurprised.

“I considered it, with how cold it was some mornings,” Georgie said. “But I don’t need to anymore, thanks to His Lordship.”

“Lord Berenger wouldn’t let any of his stablehands go without boots,” Ancel muttered awkwardly, looking around. “I was wondering…”

“Yeah?” Georgie asked, still grinning.

“Where’s… Ruby?” Ancel asked.

“In the stall next to Chestnut,” Georgie said, motioning him back towards the far side of the stables. At Ancel’s confused frown Georgie laughed once more. “His Lordship’s horse,” he explained. “They’re just here, in the back.”

He showed Ancel to a set of stalls larger than the others. He recognized Ruby right away, and beside her- Berenger’s mare.

“She’s been fed and groomed,” Georgie said. “But I could bring her tack and-”

“It’s fine,” Ancel interrupted. “Go on and do your work.”

“Right,” Georgie said, whistling as he left.

Ancel let himself into Ruby’s stall, closing his eyes as she came forward to nuzzle at his chest. For all that he’d hated horses before, he found Ruby’s company comforting now.

“Hello there,” he whispered, stroking her neck.

She whickered softly and leaned into him. Ancel couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he ran his fingers through her mane. How strange to think, she was _his._ He had a _horse._

He spent the rest of the afternoon braiding her mane with ribbons and whispering to her, glorying in her easy affection. 

If he smelled of horse at dinner, Berenger didn’t say. He didn’t say much at all.

* * *

The first week passed easily enough.

Ancel bathed every morning and every evening, just for the novelty of it. He dressed in soft linens and warm leathers and always in Berenger’s cloak, hoping to provoke some reaction and getting none. Meals were spent pleasantly enough together, but aside from that Berenger hid away in his study and Ancel was left alone.

There wasn’t much to do. He practiced with his face paints. He visited Ruby. He figured out which direction the window in Berenger’s study faced and took Ruby on short rides past it every day or so, but it didn’t seem to do any good.

Finally he grew frustrated at the lack of attention and marched into Berenger’s office, resigned to offer the only thing he knew Berenger wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Are you busy?” he asked, watching as Berenger looked up from the giant pile of paperwork on his desk.

“Ah,” Berenger said, glancing down at his papers with a pained look. “Not terribly. Is there something I can do for you?”

“I want to continue my reading lessons,” Ancel announced, gratified at the way Berenger’s eyes widened in surprise.

“...Certainly,” Berenger said at last. “Now?”

“Yes, now,” Ancel said. “That is- if you have a moment.”

“Of course,” Berenger said, “we can move to the sitting room-”

“Here is fine,” Ancel said, walking over to perch on the arm of Berenger’s chair and draping his arm over the back of it, behind Berenger’s shoulders.

“If you’re sure,” Berenger said, shuffling papers around while Ancel watched. A good number of the letters bore the royal seal but Berenger tucked them away before Ancel could get more than a glimpse at what they said. 

“How shall we begin?” Berenger asked as he lay out a fresh bit of parchment and trimmed a quill. “Perhaps we should go over the alphabet before moving on.”

“Mm,” Ancel hummed noncommittally. He was already regretting his plan as boredom started to set in. They hadn’t even started.

Berenger busied himself writing out the alphabet in crisp simple script and Ancel turned to look at his profile, the serious set of his brows. He dropped his hand to Berenger’s shoulder, plucking idly at the laces of his jacket. Maybe Parsins had laced him into it. He certainly wasn’t asking Ancel to resume those parts of his duties.

He ran his fingers up to Berenger’s collar, adjusting it minutely before trailing higher. There was more gray in Berenger’s hair now than there had been before, but he was still handsome despite it. Really, it didn’t look bad at all- it only made him look more distinguished, more serious and important. When Ancel absentmindedly traced the shell of Berenger’s ear with his fingertip he felt Berenger stiffen under his touch.

His own breath caught in his throat. Berenger wanted him. It was a relief to see it for himself, to watch the way Berenger’s fingers tightened over the quill and his breathing grew deliberately even. But he couldn’t hide his desire completely, not from Ancel. And he was allowing the touch instead of pulling away, a small victory and one that Ancel didn’t realize he needed until he had it.

“How much do you remember?” Berenger asked, the statement so abrupt and nonsensical that it took Ancel a moment to realize what he was talking about.

Oh. The alphabet.

Ancel nearly sighed. He draped his arm over Berenger’s shoulders and leaned against him as he peered at the paper. “Most of it,” he said, squinting at the letters.

“Let’s start at the beginning, then,” Berenger said, infuriatingly calm and controlled.

Ancel really did sigh then. “Alright,” he muttered, and started at the beginning.


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

The reading lessons were a terrible bore, obviously. But it was a chance to spend time with Berenger, to sidle close and offer the occasional shy smile. After a week Ancel also invited himself along to Berenger’s morning rides, which Berenger accepted with some surprise but without protest.

Ancel had been a late sleeper, but now he was used to waking with the dawn and he felt silly and restless lying about when he could be spending his time doing something useful, like trying to get Berenger into bed.

Enough time had passed by now- three whole weeks since Halvik’s camp. Ancel hadn’t been able to cry no matter how hard he tried, but he’d gotten in a few good sessions of staring longingly out windows for Berenger to see. He’d been carefully monitoring how often he smiled, to make sure he was convincingly performing being happier, more at ease, as time went on.

Berenger let him lean against him, hold his arm, touch him. Berenger offered his arm whenever they walked together through the halls, and his hand when Ancel climbed up into Ruby’s saddle. But he never initiated any other form of touch, never even hinted that he might like to. Ancel _knew_ he did. He knew it, even though there were so few indications of it.

He considered showing up to Berenger’s room in the middle of the night, claiming he’d had a nightmare. He was almost certain that Berenger wouldn’t turn him away. He’d probably pull back his blankets in invitation and hold him close while Ancel pretended to be distraught. Maybe Ancel could angle his body just so, turn his face up. Maybe he could claim to need comfort of a different sort, and entice Berenger to kiss him-

Or maybe Berenger would ask the sorts of questions that Ancel didn’t have any easy answers to. Maybe he’d ask about Droet, or the Regent, or Halfdan. And then Ancel would have to make up some nightmare and risk revealing his lies. He didn’t have nightmares. He didn’t dream at all, anymore.

Ancel kept to what was safest- morning rides, reading lessons, meals spent sitting beside one another.

The weather got colder, the days growing short and gray. Autumn was done, the encroaching winter making the fort even more dreary than it already was.

On the morning of the first snowfall Ancel wasn’t sure if he was excited or annoyed as he stared out his window, anticipating how miserable the morning’s ride would be.

When he went out into the main room, it was to see Berenger dressed in fine clothes rather than riding leathers, pulling on a set of dark gloves.

“What’s going on?” Ancel asked, blinking slowly. “Are you- going somewhere?”

“Yes,” Berenger said. “I have business in Marisse, a town a few hours ride from here.”

“What sort of business?” Ancel asked.

“Taxes,” Berenger said with a wry smile. “Land rights. The sorts of boring things you hate.”

“Oh,” Ancel muttered, looking down.

“Come with me.”

Ancel jerked up, eyes widening.

“If you like,” Berenger added a bit sheepishly. “I only thought- you’ve been cooped up in here for a while now. It would be nice for you to get out a bit. See something new.”

Ancel couldn’t say he was particularly excited at the prospect of a meeting about _taxes,_ but Berenger was inviting him somewhere. That had to be progress.

He smiled and walked over to wrap his arms around Berenger’s shoulders, leaning up on his toes so they were eye to eye. “That doesn’t sound very romantic,” he teased.

Berenger placed his hands on Ancel’s waist, steadying him as his lips quirked up. “It isn’t,” he said. “But I don’t imagine you’ll wish to stay for the meeting. Marisse is beautiful this time of year, and they have some of the finest clothing and jewelry shops in Varenne. I’m sure you must be tired by now of the things I’ve picked out for you.”

Ancel smiled wider, properly excited now. “What are we waiting for then?” He stepped back and hurried to his room to put on a warmer pair of boots and Berenger’s cloak. He had his own, a pretty sable cloak with gold cloak pins that had been in the wardrobe, but he’d grown used to wearing Berenger’s instead. He stuffed a pair of gloves into the inside pocket before going back out and taking Berenger’s hand, practically dragging him to the stables.

Berenger led him to the entrance hall instead, where they were greeted by a waiting carriage. The first and last time Ancel had been in a carriage was when they’d come to Arles, and he climbed inside excitedly.

It was just as luxurious as he remembered. The seats were upholstered in leather soft as butter and the curtains were lace, sheer enough to let in the daylight while maintaining the privacy of the riders. He climbed inside and made himself comfortable, smiling as Berenger followed.

The carriage started moving soon after and Ancel pulled back one of the curtains, peering outside. He’d never been to Marisse. He’d never really seen Varenne at all, outside Berenger’s fort. They traveled through forest-lined roads and eventually Ancel grew tired of the view, sitting back on his cushion as his stomach grumbled loudly.

He flushed with embarrassment, only now remembering he’d missed breakfast. He hoped Berenger hadn’t heard, but when he glanced over it was to see Berenger bending down to pull out a basket that had laid hidden under one of the seats.

“Lunch?” he asked mildly, opening it to reveal a lavish spread of meat and cheese and bread and little cheese tarts like the kind Ancel liked, topped with jam and berries.

Berenger reached out for a slice of bread first and Ancel couldn’t hold back a smile as he grabbed food for himself, too. He ate while watching the scenery pass by, feeling _settled_ like he hadn’t in a while. He had the feeling that he could stay silent the rest of the ride and Berenger wouldn’t push him to talk. Or he could speak, and Berenger would listen, and answer.

It was easier to just look out the window, so Ancel made himself comfortable on the bench, wrapped in Berenger’s cloak, and watched the scenery pass them by.

Forest soon turned to snow-dusted farmland, and then they were traveling down a well-used market road and into the city. Ancel couldn’t help pressing closer to the window as they passed, amazed at the nostalgic longing that gripped him. Marisse was so similar to Sanpelier, where he’d grown up. Other than the snow, it could have been the same town.

Soon enough they pulled into a fancy stable at the governor’s mansion and Berenger offered his hand to Ancel when it was time to get out. The frigid air left him breathless of a moment, but then he gathered himself and stepped forward, pulling Berenger’s cloak closed tighter around himself.

“I’m not certain how long this will take,” Berenger said, still holding Ancel’s hand. “You’re welcome to join us, of course. But I thought you might prefer exploring the town, instead.”

Ancel simply stared up at him, sure that his distaste at the invitation was clear. Obviously he’d rather do anything other than sit in at a boring meeting about _taxes._

“Here,” Berenger said, handing over a money purse.

Ancel took it, opening it to see a wealth of gold. It was a fortune.

“You’re mad,” he managed, shocked at the reality of holding so much money in his hands all at once.

“Will you need more?”

Ancel glanced up, his mouth agape in a surely unflattering expression.

Berenger smiled.

Ancel closed his mouth.

“What if I run off?” he asked, slipping the purse into his pocket.

“I suppose you could,” Berenger said easily. “I’m not keeping you prisoner.”

“What if I get robbed?” Ancel demanded. His face felt hot and he wasn’t sure why.

“This is Varenne,” Berenger said, taking off the glove covering his left hand. “No one will harm you here. Certainly not while you carry this.” He pulled off the ring he wore on his left ring finger, a heavy thing made of pure gold. His signet ring.

Ancel took it numbly, even more afraid of losing it than the coin he now had in a pouch in his pocket.

“If you’re concerned,” Berenger continued, “I can have Pavel keep watch over you.” He glanced up at one of his guardsmen, a serious man with a bushy beard who seemed just as stupidly dutiful as Berenger was.

“I’ll be fine,” Ancel said quickly. The thought of some stranger _watching over him_ made him nervous, no matter how trustworthy or honorable Berenger thought he was.

“Very good,” Berenger said. “You know where I’ll be if you need me. Otherwise, I’ll find you once my work is done.”

Ancel managed a respectful nod before turning to go, holding his cloak closed tight as he braved the winter air.

He wandered for a while. It was true what Berenger had said- Marisse was beautiful, decorated with pine boughs woven into wreaths in preparation for the midwinter festival. There were bright scarves hung from house to house and paper lanterns strung up above the streets.

It didn’t take long to find the first clothing store and Ancel went inside with his heart thrumming with excitement. Silk and lace didn’t appeal to him so much any more, not during the winter, but he ordered a fine set of heeled riding boots that would go above the knee and two pairs of slippers decorated with tiny glass beads. At another shop he ordered a robe of silk and one of heavy brocade, a nightshirt, new stockings and delicate lace underthings like the sorts of things he’d liked before. It would be good to have such things if he was to make more progress with Berenger.

Afterwards he wandered aimlessly for a while, purchasing sweets from street vendors and peering into the window fronts of other shops- book shops and antiques, stores that sold ancient Akielon statuary and Veretian illuminated manuscripts.

Eventually he came across a shop that displayed diamonds and emeralds in the windows and was drawn inside as if by a magnet.

There was a young man at the counter, idly flipping through a book. When Ancel came in, he looked up only to frown.

“Oh,” Mathe said. “It’s _you.”_

“Mathe,” Ancel said, shocked. It was only now that he’d realized he’d lost track of him. He was so busy with Berenger that he’d not considered what might have become of Mathe. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here,” Mathe said as though it were obvious. He looked good. Healthy. He wore gold rings on each elegantly-manicured finger and pearls braided into his hair. “His Lordship’s set me up with an apprenticeship. What are _you_ doing here?”

“I…” Ancel froze, suddenly uncertain.

Mathe grinned. “Where is His Lordship? Maybe he’d care to buy you a set of diamond earrings. I work on commission, you know.” Mathe held out his hands with a smirk, wiggling his fingers to show off his rings. “See anything you like? They’re all for sale.”

Ancel sighed, smiling a little. Of course. “I wondered if…” He pulled out the linen handkerchief that he’d transferred the ruined emerald necklace into and laid it out on the counter, blushing at the awful sight of the thing.

“Holy hell,” Mathe muttered, taking in the damage. “What the fuck did you do to it.”

“What do you think,” Ancel retorted.

“You had this back at court,” Mathe said, looking up. “Where have you been keeping it? Don’t tell me it was up your-”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Ancel interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Can you fix it or not?”

“I don’t know,” Mathe said, sifting carefully through the ruined jewels. “Oi! Old man!’

Ancel flinched at the shout, but then there was an older man walking into the main room. He winced as he stared at the bits of silver and emeralds laid out before him. “Holy hell,” he muttered.

“I know it’s… bad,” Ancel said with a wince. He felt his face heating with some mixture of shame and anger. “I just- can you fix it?”

The older man prodded at the stones for a long moment before pulling out a jeweler’s glass to take a closer look. “You’re looking at a few hundred sol in labor,” he muttered. “And the materials… and I’m not sure I can tell what it used to look like before. It won’t be the same.”

“He knows,” Ancel said, glancing at Mathe.

“What, you think I made an effort to memorize your jewelry?” Mathe retorted. “I had my own problems to deal with.”

Ancel’s heart fell in disappointment. Something of it must have shown on his face because Mathe frowned and looked down, staring at the shop owner inspecting the necklace.

“I remember more or less,” Mathe muttered. “But the old man’s right. It won’t be the same.”

“The best you can do is fine,” Ancel said.

“Right,” the shop keep said, straightening up decisively. “I’ll need a deposit. Three hundred sol to start, the rest once it’s finished. A week or two, perhaps.”

“That’s fine,” Ancel said, managing a weak smile as he pulled out Berenger’s purse and counted out coins on the counter. He felt a bit guilty spending so much, but Berenger had given him that much and more, so maybe it would be alright.

“Well look at you,” Mathe drawled. “Mister moneybags. Sure I can’t interest you in a pair of diamond earrings after all? Or emeralds, to match.”

“Maybe if you do a good job, I’ll become a regular,” Ancel said as haughtily as he could manage.

Mathe snorted out a laugh and Ancel couldn’t help grinning back. “If you’re not going to buy anything,” Mathe said, “get the fuck out.”

“Mathe,” the older man said reproachfully. “That’s not how we talk to customers.”

“It’s alright,” Ancel said. “We’re…” not _friends,_ not exactly. “Acquainted. If he weren’t rude to me I’d be worried.”

“Hmm,” the man hummed noncommittally, gathering up the linen handkerchief and leaving for the back room.

“Go on then,” Mathe said, raising an eyebrow. “But do come back if you change your mind about those earrings.”

* * *

By the time Ancel found himself back out on the street the sun had started going down, the temperature dropping with it. The snow that had been coming down steadily throughout the day came thicker, whipped about by the icy wind.

Ancel shivered as he burrowed deeper into his cloak, throwing a glance towards the governor’s mansion looming over the town, its windows glowing with golden light. He could go back there and find Berenger, but the trek seemed so foreboding that Ancel found himself walking away from it instead.

He could hear laughter in the distance, warm voices and friendly shouting. He walked towards it, finding himself in an outdoor market. Festive booths were set up around the perimeter of a public square sheltered from the wind, and in the center a group of musicians were playing jaunty tunes. Townsfolk danced before them, simple line dances that involved a lot of clapping and laughter.

Coals smoldered in sturdy braziers throughout the square, making the night air seem warm and inviting even as snowflakes continued to drift down out of the pitch black sky.

Ancel wandered past the stalls, buying a meat pie and sweet deep-fried dough balls and ale before settling in an out of the way corner to eat and drink and watch all the happy people. He was pleasantly warm and more than a bit tipsy when a young woman bounded up to him, grinning.

“You there! Beautiful boy!” she called out.

Ancel glanced behind himself nervously but there was no one there.

“Yes, you,” the woman said, taking his hand and pulling him up to stand. “Come dance with us!” 

Ancel stumbled a little, his head spinning. “Us?” he asked, glancing past the woman at a group of half a dozen more, giggling as they watched.

“You’ve been watching the dancing, you want to,” the woman said, still grinning and leading him over.

“I- I don’t know how,” Ancel protested. “I don’t know these steps-”

“We’ll teach you,” one of the other women said, reaching out to take his other hand. “Besides, it’s good luck to dance with a redhead before midwinter. It means the fire will never die in your hearth, not even during the darkest night.”

“Oh really,” Ancel said with a laugh.

“Come,” the first woman said. “Like this-”

She showed him the steps, when to step left and right, when to move forward and clap his hands.

“See? It’s easy,” she said.

It _was_ easy. Ancel followed along, grinning. By the third song he was laughing, the world a brilliant smear around him. Maybe he’d had too much ale. Maybe he was having too much fun.

When the musicians stopped for a break, replaced by a group of youths singing soaring choir songs, the women dragged Ancel off to a nearby stall and ordered a round of mulled wine, which Ancel paid for against their protests.

“How gallant,” the first woman, Marie, said as she leaned in closer and batted her eyelashes. “You wouldn’t happen to be in the market for a wife, would you?”Ancel flushed and took a hurried sip of wine while Marie’s friends laughed.

“Oh, sweet heavens,” one of the women said, clutching at her heart. Her eyes were wide as saucers as she stared at something past Ancel’s shoulder.

“What is it Ellie-” Marie asked, turning in alarm.

“Well don’t _look,”_ Ellie hissed, yanking Marie back. “His Lordship’s here. Oh, but he’s dreamy.”

“He’s not bad looking,” Marie said after sneaking a peek. “He’s still nothing to the late Prince.”

“Ach,” Ellie said, slapping Marie playfully on the upper arm. “You don’t compare the sun to the moon, they’re both beautiful in their own ways.”

Ancel snorted out a laugh before turning carefully to see for himself. Berenger was standing at the edge of the square holding a cup of wine and speaking to one of the merchants. Ancel wouldn’t call him _beautiful,_ but he did look rather fetching standing backlit by one of the fires, a tall silhouette in a long dark coat. 

As Ancel watched, Berenger looked up and their eyes caught for a moment that seemed to last an age. Ancel grinned and raised his own cup in a toast. When Berenger echoed the motion, Ellie squealed in delight. “He’s looking at us!”

“Why don’t you ask him to dance,” Ancel teased, “if you like him so much.”

“He never dances at these things,” Marie said. “Not with girls, at least.”

“You think he’ll dance with me?” Ancel asked.

Ellie squinted at him, looking him up and down. “Not a chance.”

“We’ll see,” Ancel said, handing her the remains of his wine before marching over to Berenger. He took Berenger by the hand, interrupting him mid-sentence. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Berenger said warmly. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“I’d be having more fun if you danced with me,” Ancel said. His cheeks hurt from how much he’d been smiling that night, but he felt so good it was like floating.

“Ah,” Berenger said, flushing a little. “I don’t generally dance at these things."

“So I’ve heard,” Ancel said. “But I’ve also heard it’s good luck to dance with a redhead before midwinter. And anyway, you’d be helping me win a bet.”

“Well, as long as it’ll help you win a bet,” Berenger murmured, bidding the merchant farewell before following Ancel onto the dance floor. Ancel glanced back at the group of women, where Ellie was staring with her mouth open in unabashed shock. Ancel winked at her before turning back to Berenger, still holding his hand.

The choir finished up and the musicians returned, striking up another lively tune. For all his protests, Berenger was a fine dancer and he knew all the steps. They twirled around with the other townsfolk and every so often Ancel caught a glimpse of Ellie, growing more and more incredulous by the minute.

When the song finished Ancel laughed, taking Berenger by the shoulders and leaning close as he caught his breath.

“Is your bet won?” Berenger asked.

“Are you tired already?”

“I have better stamina than that,” Berenge said dryly.

Ancel didn’t know how long they danced, but eventually there came a tune slower than the ones before.

“Oh,” Ancel said. “I don’t think I know this dance.”

“I do,” Berenger said, guiding Ancel’s hands to rest on his shoulders before holding Ancel by the waist. “It’s simple enough, if you follow my lead.”

Ancel leaned closer, wrapping his arms more fully around Berenger’s neck and resting his cheek against Berenger’s shoulder. It wasn’t dancing so much as swaying, but that was nice too. He closed his eyes and let Berenger lead them around the dance floor, and when the last notes of music faded away into the night Ancel found himself still standing close with no desire to let go.

He felt dizzy and tired, overwarm. His body ached from the dancing, but it was an oddly pleasant feeling that made his limbs feel like they were filled with lead. He stifled a yawn against Berenger’s coat, tightening his arms.

“It’s late,” Berenger said quietly. “We should go.”

“Mm,” Ancel hummed. The thought of spending the next few hours curled up on the narrow seat of Berenger’s carriage as it bumped along down the road was distinctly unappealing. “I’m sleepy. And drunk.”

Berenger laughed. “I know. Hold on.”

Ancel yawned again, not sure what Berenger was talking about, not until he bent and hefted Ancel into his arms. Ancel yelped in surprise, holding tighter, but if Berenger was having any trouble taking his weight he didn’t show it as he started walking- somewhere.

Ancel must have dozed off for a while because the next thing he knew he was lying in bed wearing just his shirt and trousers while Berenger tucked the blankets around him.

“Are we home?” Ancel asked, confused.

“We’re at an inn,” Berenger said. “We’ll go home tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Ancel said. “Kiss me goodnight.”

Berenger looked at him for a long moment. Ancel was sure he would refuse, but instead he raised his hand to cradle the side of Ancel’s face. He leaned closer and Ancel closed his eyes, lips parting in anticipation.

He felt the soft brush of lips against his forehead, his left cheek, his right, and then Berenger was gone.

“Good night,” Berenger said.

“I suppose that’ll have to be good enough,” Ancel grumbled before turning to burrow into the blankets.


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

The carriage ride back to the fort was miserable as Ancel nursed a hangover from the previous night. To his great mortification they had to stop twice when Ancel thought he might vomit, but each time as he knelt on the ground with Berenger beside him, stroking his back, he managed to hold it back. He might not have survived the humiliation otherwise.

By the next day he felt right as rain and as they settled into their familiar routine things felt different, easier. They’d danced together, and Berenger had kissed him, and Ancel felt full of hope that he was finally making progress.

And then a delivery came for him, the purchases he’d made in Marisse.

He considered them all laid out over his bed, oddly nervous as he stared at the lace stockings and the garter belt, the silk robe.

Berenger wouldn’t wait for him forever, and the longer this drawn-out seduction took the more anxious Ancel grew over its inevitable consummation. It felt like ages had passed since the last time, and he didn’t want to be _unprepared_ when the time finally came. He wanted to just- get it over with. Surely by now Berenger believed that Ancel was fine? 

If he was confident, if he said the right things, then he could convince Berenger to fuck him and he wouldn’t have to anticipate it anymore.

It probably wouldn’t even be bad, based on how Berenger had kissed him back in Arles. It could be good, even. Maybe.

Ancel told himself it would be good as he bathed, taking a fortifying drink of wine before preparing himself and pulling on the stockings. They went high enough to cover the burn marks on his thigh, he’d made sure of that. And if he wore those with the garter belt he wouldn’t have to take them off, not until they were in the darkness of Berenger’s bedroom. Maybe not even then.

Berenger would be in his study now, and Ancel couldn’t exactly parade through the fort practically naked. He put on his slippers and the silk robe, Berenger’s cloak on top of it all. It wouldn’t do for him to show up with his skin covered in unsightly goose pimples after the walk through the cold halls.

After a final look in the mirror to fix his hair Ancel left, his heart pounding with nerves. If he passed anyone in the halls, he didn’t know it. Too soon he was standing before the door to Berenger’s study, suddenly imposing in a way it never was. He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm, to relax.

He was going to make Berenger want him. It was as simple as breathing.

Before he could doubt himself further, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The room was warm, reassuringly familiar. Some of the nerves eased as he watched Berenger look up from his work. His eyes were dark with desire, though maybe that was Ancel’s imagination playing tricks on him.

“Ancel,” Berenger said.

“My lord,” Ancel purred, gliding over to Berenger’s side of the desk and perching on the edge of it.

“Is something the matter?”

“No,” Ancel said, leaning back on the desk and moving to set his foot on Berenger’s chair, between his legs.

Berenger looked down, taking in the beaded slipper, the white lace stocking covering Ancel’s leg.

“Ah,” he said.

“Speechless?” Ancel asked. “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.” He shifted so the cloak fell open, revealing the robe and the tantalizing hint of skin beyond. Berenger moved to carefully set down his quill. He looked up, his gaze searching and oddly closed off.

“This is generally the part where you’d ravish me,” Ancel prompted, still smiling flirtatiously as he raised an eyebrow.

“I see,” Berenger said. He leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed. “Unfortunately I’m not in the mood at the moment.”

“I can help you get in the mood,” Ancel said, refusing to be put off. This had to happen sooner or later. He’d prefer it was sooner. “Unless- are you implying your cock doesn’t work, my lord?”

Berenger smiled. “It works just fine.”

“How can you be sure?” Ancel teased. He moved to slide his foot up Berenger’s thigh but Berenger took hold of his ankle, stopping him. “When was the last time you used it?”

“Are you asking about my past lovers?”

Ancel felt like he was losing control of the situation, if he’d ever had it.

“Well,” Berenger said, still holding his gaze. “I suppose the last was during the war.”

“The _war,”_ Ancel repeated incredulously. “That was six years ago.”

“Yes,” Berenger said with a wry smile. “There was a soldier. A Lieutenant.”

“How scandalous,” Ancel said, shifting so the cloak slid down one shoulder. They were talking about sex, weren’t they? So maybe this was progress.

“Quite,” Berenger said. “It was my first time at war, seeing real battle. It was… difficult. I often had nightmares and took to wandering the camp. He had much the same problem. One thing led to another and… we took comfort in each other.”

“What sort of comfort?” Ancel asked, still trying to be teasing even as he felt the situation spiraling out of his grasp. “Did you fuck him, or did he-”

“It was an army camp,” Berenger said. “We were lucky if we ever got enough privacy to fumble around with our hands down each other’s pants. But we did talk.”

“Talk,” Ancel repeated flatly.

“Talk,” Berenger said, his gaze intense. “The things we went through- the things we saw- it helped to talk about them. To share our pain so we didn’t have to carry it alone.”

Ancel moved his foot off Berenger’s chair, straightening with a scowl as he tugged the cloak closed. “That’s what you want from me, then?” he asked. “You want me to _talk?_ About- about-”

“That’s what I want _for_ you, perhaps,” Berenger said quietly. “You don’t have to shoulder it alone. What you went through-”

“What would you know about what I went through,” Ancel hissed, crossing his arms over his chest. His heart was pounding and he was shaking with some sickening brew of anger and shame, fear and revulsion.

“More than you might think,” Berenger said. “I know what goes on at Vaskian raiding camps-”

“So that’s it,” Ancel interrupted. His face was hot and his hands clenched into fists. He didn’t remember doing that. He didn’t remember backing away, either. But he must have- he was standing a few paces back from the desk, a few paces back from Berenger, who was standing now too. “You think I let everyone in that clan use me like a two-penny whore. That’s why you can’t bear to touch me.”

“Ancel-” Berenger said, his voice shaking.

“You don’t know shit about fuck-all,” Ancel growled, taking another step backwards. “I’m not some dirty broken thing, I still- I still-”

“Ancel,” Berenger said, reaching out for him.

“Fuck you,” Ancel said, slapping his hand away before storming out of the room, not sure where he was going.

He walked until he found himself out in the gardens, striding through the snowy paths until he reached the fountain at the center of it all, frozen over now. He felt weak and shaky as he sank to his knees, staring at the ice and the bits of autumn leaves trapped within.

He didn’t know how long he sat there. Long enough for the shaking to stop.

He flinched at a warm hand touching his cheek, looking up into Berenger’s concerned eyes.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Berenger said. “It’s been hours. Let’s get you inside.”

“I’m sorry,” Ancel said, terrified. What had he done? He’d ruined everything. Berenger had barely wanted him before, and he definitely wouldn’t want him now that he’d seen the true ugliness within.

“I shouldn’t have-” Ancel said desperately. “I lost my temper. It won’t ever happen again. I swear it won’t happen again. I’m so sorry. Please, I-”

“It’s alright,” Berenger said. “Everything’s alright. Come- let’s get you warmed up.”

Ancel hung his head in shame as he let Berenger lead him inside the fort, into his bedroom. He helped Ancel out of his cloak and his robe and into a cotton sleep shirt before tucking him into bed, sliding in behind him and rubbing at his freezing arms.

“I’m sorry,” Ancel whispered one last time. He was so tired it was all he could do to keep his eyes open. He didn’t hear Berenger’s reply.

* * *

When he woke it was still dark, the fire low in the hearth. There was a warm weight at his back and it was pleasant instead of uncomfortable. It was Berenger, smelling of soap and fresh air. It wasn’t Halfdan’s sweat and his beard scratching Ancel’s neck. Berenger didn’t have a beard, and he didn’t snore either.

Ancel felt odd as he sat up, not sure what he was doing. Berenger shifted with a sleepy murmur and all Ancel could do was stare down at his shaking hands. He didn’t know why his hands were shaking. He tried to take a deep breath, to take control, but for once his body didn’t obey him.

It should have felt terrifying.

Something wet fell to Ancel’s palm. He shuddered, staring. His face was wet too. Was he crying? He hadn’t cried in so long.

“Ancel?” Berenger whispered, sitting up beside him.

Ancel sobbed, a horrible ugly thing ripping out of his chest like a long-buried monster bursting free. He sobbed again and it felt like his ribs shattering, like his body pushing out poison that had settled deep into his soul. It _hurt._ He couldn’t breathe.

“Ancel,” Berenger said, wrapping an arm around him.

Ancel curled into Berenger’s hold, weeping against him and clutching at his sleep shirt as he shook apart. Berenger simply drew him close and stroked his back, his hair.

“It’s alright,” Berenger was saying, over and over again. “It’s alright, I’ve got you. It’s over now, it’s over. You’re safe. You’re safe here.”

It only made Ancel cry harder. He couldn’t bear for it not to be true. He couldn’t bear to lose this, to have it crumble under him like everything else. 

“It’s all over, Ancel. You’re safe.”

* * *

When Ancel woke again he felt like his head was full of cotton, overstuffed. Everything ached.

When he opened his eyes it was to see he was still in Berenger’s bed, the room lit by the softly crackling fire in the grate and the weak sun. It must have been snowing again.

Berenger was beside him, sitting up against a small pile of pillows as he read a letter, a stack of parchment on the nightstand within easy reach. Ancel blinked slowly as he watched for a while, oddly numb.

Berenger finished reading with a quiet sigh and folded the letter before he noticed Ancel was awake.

“How are you feeling?” he asked carefully, his gaze guarded.

Mostly Ancel just felt… tired.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice hoarse after weeping in the night. He didn’t have to specify the _this_ he meant. Why was Berenger taking care of him, putting up with his tantrums, not asking for anything in return. Nothing came for free, so what did he _want?_

Berenger licked his lips, looking down at the folded letter. For a long time he was silent, but then he sighed once more and turned to look Ancel in the eye. “Leaving you was the worst mistake I ever made,” he said quietly. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’d spend every day of the rest of my life trying to earn it if you’d let me.”

Ancel scoffed, turning to lie on his back so he could stare at the ceiling. “Guilt, then,” he said dully.

“Not guilt,” Berenger said. Ancel turned to glare, watching as Berenger frowned. “Love.”

“Love,” Ancel repeated incredulously. “I’m supposed to believe you _love_ me?”

It was pathetic. Ancel had had clients claim to love him before, sad lonely men who could only get affection if they paid for it. He’d always pretended to love them too, strung them along for increasing sums of money before he inevitably got bored of their pitiful declarations and left them out in the cold. He’d thought Berenger was better than that.

“Well I don’t love _you,”_ Ancel spit out. “And I never will.”

He stared Berenger right in the face as he said it, waiting for the inevitable disappointment, the anger. Berenger’s face was unreadable, his gaze intense. And then his lips curled up faintly, so faintly that Ancel might have missed it if he hadn’t been looking so closely.

“Alright,” Berenger said, looking away to pick up an unopened letter and breaking the seal. Ancel watched as Berenger opened the letter and resumed his work like nothing had happened.

 _“Alright?”_ Ancel exclaimed, sitting up. “That’s it? Alright?”

“That’s it,” Berenger said, not even bothering to look at him. “We’ve missed breakfast, but it’s nearly time for lunch. It’s not too late to send a note to the kitchen if you’d like something in particular.”

“Shut up,” Ancel said. “Is this a joke to you? Do you think I’m joking?”

“No,” Berenger said mildly.

“Because I’m not,” Ancel said. “And I- I don’t have to stay here and take this.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine!” Ancel climbed out of bed, furious as he stormed over to where Berenger had left his clothes from last night. “I’m leaving! I’m taking your money and- and- _Ruby_ and I’m leaving!” 

“I see,” Berenger said, making no move to stop him.

“I’m serious,” Ancel said, his voice rising. He glared as he stopped in the middle of the room, breathing hard as he clutched his clothes to his chest. Berenger was watching him, still so infuriatingly calm. “Take a good look, because you’ll _never_ see me again.”

He stormed out of Berenger’s room and into his own, rushing to dress and stuff a few of his favorite things into a bag. He stopped by Berenger’s office to grab the purse of gold he kept at the back of one of the drawers before heading down to the stables, barking orders at the startled stable boys.

They saddled Ruby while he grabbed a few satchels of dried apple treats for her, and then he was climbing into the saddle and riding out of the stables at a gallop, squinting against the harsh wind and the snowflakes fluttering around him.

No one tried to stop him as he rode through the gates and then he was on the road, the fields blurring around him into a single mass of gray. Fields soon turned to forest, thick pine trees dark and unforgiving around them. He didn’t know where he was going but Ruby seemed to so he let her go where she would, his lungs burning with the cold. He didn’t know how long they traveled, an hour or two at most, before the forest parted before them and Ancel saw the familiar sight of the town of Marisse just ahead.

“Good girl,” he told Ruby as she took him towards it. Before he knew it he was walking on cobblestone streets while holding tight to Ruby’s reins.

Despite the cold, the town was bustling with activity, vibrant and loud. It was so much better than Berenger’s stupid stuffy fort, silent except for the scurrying of servants and the occasional horse sneeze. Ancel was done wilting away in there, he was going to _live._

He was done with streets and brothels. He was going to- to- find an apprenticeship somewhere like Mathe. Maybe he’d learn to sew and make beautiful clothes, embellished with lavish embroidery and pearl beads, with gold thread and lace. Or maybe he’d become a horse merchant just for a laugh, or simply travel and see all the wonders the world had to offer. He certainly had enough money to last him a good long while, even if he ate like a Lord and had cake twice a day.

He could- _anything._ He could do anything. And he’d never have to look at stupid Berenger’s stupid face again.

He sniffled only to furiously wipe at his face, looking forward. He wasn’t _crying._ He had nothing to cry about anymore. It was just the cold stinging at his eyes and his nose.

There was a bustling inn off the main square and he took Ruby to the stables, brushing her down himself despite the snot-nosed stable boys trying to get underfoot, before getting a room. He had lunch, too. Roast pork and potatoes and a generous serving of wine.

It was still snowing and miserable outside when he went to wander the shops. He needed supplies, probably, if he was to travel the world. He needed… a blanket. Food. A map. But he felt oddly listless as he wandered past groups of happy people chattering about nonsense. That was fine enough, anyway. It wasn’t as though he was in a rush. He could buy all those things tomorrow. Or maybe he could spend the winter in Marisse and set out on his travels when the weather improved. He could stay for the midwinter festival, and maybe Berenger would come and they’d lock eyes across the square-

Ancel scowled, pushing the thought away. He was done with Berenger.

Somehow his feet had taken him to the jewelry store. He couldn’t afford to buy jewelry. It would be too showy on the road, and anyway- he had to spend his money on practical things. Like food and blankets. And a map.

He walked inside anyway, the warmth inside the shop a relief.

“Just in time,” Mathe said, leaning against the counter. He was wearing rubies today, a lavish headpiece almost like a crown and long dangling earrings.

“In time for what?” Ancel asked, walking closer.

“The old man finished last night,” Mathe said, ducking to retrieve a small black box and opening it with a flourish.

It was the emerald necklace. It was beautiful, the stones polished and shining, the metal clean as new. It was different from the way it had been before, but it was still recognizably the same necklace. Perhaps it was even lovelier than before. There were diamonds now too, accenting the emeralds to make them look even more breathtakingly vibrant.

“Oh,” Ancel whispered, reaching out to touch.

“So you like it,” Mathe said with a grin. “I told the old man you were His Lordship’s pet so you’re worth a bit of extra work. It’s four hundred sol now, but I’m sure you can afford it.”

It was madness spending four hundred sol when Ancel should be pinching pennies, but the necklace was so beautiful he couldn’t resist. He pulled out the purse to count the money out on the counter before reaching out with shaking fingers to pick up the necklace and fasten it on, giving it one last lingering caress before tucking it under his shirt and making sure it was covered with his scarf.

“Where is His Lordship?” Mathe asked. “He didn’t send you in here alone again, did he?”

“He-” Ancel winced and licked his lips, looking down. “He told me he loved me. And I ran away.”

Mathe snorted in laughter. “You’re not serious.”

“I am,” Ancel said with a faint smile. “Well? Aren’t you going to scold me?”

“Contrary to what you clearly think, my life does not revolve around _you,”_ Mathe retorted.

“I’m disappointed,” Ancel said. “I’d expected you to tell me to get over myself and go back there and- and- tell him I love him too.”

“Do you?” Mathe asked.

“No,” Ancel said, maybe a little too quickly. “No, I- I _left._ For good. I don’t want anything to do with him anymore.”

“Hmm,” Mathe hummed, narrowing his eyes. “That’s why you’re wearing his necklace? And his cloak?”

Ancel shivered, drawing the cloak closed tighter around him. “...No,” he muttered.

“Right,” Mathe said with a scoff. “Well. I hope you figure out what it is you want, Red. And I hope you get it, too.”

“Why?” Ancel asked, suspicious.

“Maybe because I’m happy, is all,” Mathe grinned.

“Happy? _You?”_

“I met a girl,” Mathe said with a shrug. “We’re- well. It’s all very new, but I- it’s wonderful.”

“Oh,” Ancel said, shocked to see Mathe blush. He slipped his hand into the purse once more, pulling out a few coins and sliding them across the counter. “Get her something sparkly, then. I’m sure she’s tired of you being the pretty one all the time.”

Mathe laughed, pocketing the coins. “Thank you, I will. And anyway… good luck.”

“You too,” Ancel said as he made his way out.

* * *

It was snowing harder outside, the sun setting. Ancel felt oddly numb as he walked back to the inn, at a loss for what to do. What _did_ he want?

He didn’t know.

He thought back to the times he’d been happiest, and the first warm memory that came to him was kissing Berenger back in Arles, the way Berenger had wrapped his arms around Ancel’s waist and pressed close, and-

And then they’d gone out to the gardens and Berenger had said _“I think we both know this isn’t working.”_

Ancel’s breath caught in his throat and he had to stop, leaning against the wall as he stared up at the darkening sky. He didn’t know what he wanted, but he knew he didn’t want to hear those words ever again.

What did he want?

Why was it so difficult?

He thought back to Arles and slowly put it together, all the things that had made him happy when nothing else had. He wanted riches and finery, gold and jewels and silk. He wanted to be among the most elegant fashions, the most powerful people. He wanted safety and security, he wanted to _matter,_ to affect the world. And he wanted- he wanted-

Berenger.

“Fuck,” Ancel hissed, hurrying back towards the inn. He’d been so stupid, leaving like that. Berenger didn’t just want him, Berenger _loved him._ And he’d _left_ like an utter buffoon.

Berenger was probably missing him, waiting for him to return. Maybe he was worried and, and-

“Saddle my horse,” Ancel demanded as he walked into the stable of the inn. The sleepy stable boys rushed to obey while he could only watch, this mind swirling with too many thoughts all at once.

He felt utterly ridiculous as he climbed into the saddle once more, making his way home.

The first hour or so passed without incident, but then the sun set fully and the world was wreathed in cold and darkness. The snow came down harder and Ancel shivered in the saddle as Ruby plodded along. He could tell she was nervous by the way she tested nearly every step.

There was no starlight, much less moonlight. The snow was coming down harder and harder with every moment and finally Ancel dismounted, holding Ruby’s reins as he tried to peer into the darkness.

When he took the next step he nearly walked into a snow-laden branch and jerked back in shock. It was so dark, but when he looked around he saw he was surrounded by trees. Somehow they’d wandered off the road.

Ancel felt a sob trying to claw its way up his throat and pushed it back. He was such a _fool._ He’d had _everything._ He’d had safety and comfort, he’d had _Berenger._ And he’d thrown it all away just so he could- what? Go wander the countryside alone? It was so stupid and pathetic. 

And now he was lost in the middle of the woods where he’d freeze to death, and Ruby would too, and-

He sniffled, wiping furiously at his eyes. Oh, Ruby. Sweet gentle Ruby. She didn’t deserve this and he’d _doomed_ her.

She started walking, tugging sharply on the reins, and Ancel was forced to follow.

“R-Ruby,” he tried, squinting through the driving snow. It was so cold he couldn’t help shivering. “Ruby, where are you-”

He could see a faint flickering light through the trees and hope bloomed in his chest. A farmhouse? He could shelter there for the night, him and Ruby. And in the morning they’d go back to Berenger’s fort. He grinned, walking towards the light with more purpose now.

But as the trees cleared once more, he saw it wasn’t a farmhouse at all. It was a lantern on the side of the road. There was a whole line of them- an unbroken chain that led the way _home._

“Ruby,” Ancel said with a laugh, climbing back into the saddle as she tossed her head impatiently, no doubt just as eager to get back as he was. “Let’s go.”

With the lantern light marking the way, they managed an easy canter for another hour before the fort stood solid and stern before them. The gates started opening before Ancel had even announced himself, and then he was riding through, inside.

He dismounted and Ruby mouthed at his cloak- at Berenger’s cloak- before Georgie came running out to take her away.

For once, Ancel let him. He turned towards the fort itself, rushing inside without even bothering to knock the snow off his boots. The corridors blurred, and then he was walking into Berenger’s study.

Berenger looked up, eyes widening as he took in Ancel’s no-doubt disheveled appearance. “Ancel,” he said, rising from his desk. “Are you alright? I wasn’t expecting you back so soon. Did you run into trouble-”

Ancel threw himself into Berenger’s welcoming arms, pressing close as he screwed his eyes shut against the inevitable tears.

“Ancel,” Berenger murmured, stroking his hair. “What’s wrong?”

Ancel shook his head and held on tighter. “Nothing’s wrong,” he managed at last. “I’m just glad to be home.”


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

Ancel woke to the soft rustling of paper and the quiet crackling of the fire. The sun had only just begun to rise, but when he turned it was to see Berenger sitting in bed beside him as he went through his correspondence.

For the past few days this had become their routine- Ancel sharing Berenger’s bed. He had nightmares some nights, and when he woke crying Berenger would hold him. In the morning they’d be greeted by a gray winter dawn and laze around for a bit. Or at least Ancel would. Berenger was determined to spend every waking moment on work. 

“Working already?” Ancel murmured sleepily.

“Unfortunately,” Berenger said, reaching out to run his fingers absently through Ancel’s hair. Ancel closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. “How did you sleep?”

“Well enough,” Ancel said, biting back a grumble of disappointment when Berenger withdrew his hand to turn over the letter he was reading.

Ancel could tell he was just skimming the text, his eyes moving quickly from side to side. That must have meant the letter wasn’t very important. He always read the important ones slowly, frowning faintly if it was good news and worrying at his lip if it was bad.

“Why did you smile?” Ancel asked, turning to prop his face up on his hand.

“Hm?” Berenger asked. 

“When I told you I-” Ancel flushed, licking his lips. “I didn’t love you. You smiled.”

Berenger put down the letter he’d been reading to peer over at Ancel. “I smiled because it meant you’d stopped pretending. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Ancel huffed out a laugh before sprawling out on the sheets on his back, stretching languidly. “Droet said that too. But he meant it… in a different way.”

He looked over just in time to catch the guilt flitting over Berenger’s face before it was replaced by something darker.

“You don’t have to worry about him anymore,” Berenger said, going back to his reading.

A chill ran down Ancel’s spine and he couldn’t help recalling the look in Halfdan’s eyes as he presented Ancel with a severed ear. Surely Berenger hadn’t...  _ done  _ anything like that. He’d killed, probably. He’d practically admitted as much when he said he’d been to war. But surely…

“Why not?” Ancel asked, trying to act casual even as his mouth suddenly went dry. He’d never thought of Berenger as a violent man. The idea that he might be wrong had him in a cold sweat even as he scolded himself for how foolish he was being.

“The Lords involved in the Regent’s plot were rounded up and tried for treason,” Berenger said quietly. “The ones deemed guilty were stripped of their lands and titles before being exiled from Vere. The ones who had committed the most egregious crimes found trouble on the road. Lord Droet was among them.”

“Oh,” Ancel whispered. Droet hadn’t been the most pleasant man, but he hadn’t been  _ evil.  _ Certainly no worse than so many other men Ancel knew.

“Of course,” Berenger continued, “I advised His Majesty that public executions would be in order, but he chose to handle the matter quietly. He didn’t want his ascension overshadowed by such things.”

“Oh,” Ancel said, not sure what to think. He didn’t flinch when Berenger reached out to brush a lock of hair behind his ear, simply closing his eyes and leaning into the touch, as gentle as always.

“Are you disappointed in me?” Berenger asked. “Would you have preferred I killed him myself?”

Ancel smiled, turning his face to press a kiss to Berenger’s palm. “And have you sully your lily white skin? You might have hurt your delicate scholar’s fingers, and then how would you write your letters?”

Berenger’s hands were far from the soft hands of a pampered noble. He had calluses on his palms from sword work and from caring for his horse, from riding and yes, writing. But the tease drew a smile from Berenger’s lips.

“Of course,” he murmured. “That would have been terrible.”

There was a faint sound outside the room followed by a respectful knock. Berenger called out a greeting and a maid walked into the bedroom holding the breakfast tray. With winter in full swing, the drafty dining hall had become unbearable and Berenger and Ancel had started taking their meals in private. Breakfast in the bedroom, lunch in Berenger’s office, and dinner in the kitchens with the servants.

Ancel wasn’t sure what he enjoyed more- the quiet intimacy of eating alone with Berenger or the raucous chaos of dinner surrounded by warmth and laughter. He was fairly certain that sort of thing wasn’t done anywhere else, that no other Lord would deign to eat with his servants instead of in his fancy ice-cold dining hall. Ancel was fairly sure no other Lord’s servants would tolerate such an arrangement.

But Varenne wasn’t like anywhere else, and Berenger was like no other Lord.

“Thank you, Laine,” Ancel said as she set the breakfast tray carefully down on the bed. She blushed and bowed before taking her leave.

“You know her name,” Berenger said after she’d gone, pleased and surprised in equal measure.

“Of course,” Ancel said haughtily, reaching for a fruit tart. “I learned everyone’s names. The better to seduce you, my lord.”

“I see,” Berenger said, reaching for a boring piece of buttered toast. He didn’t seem angry or annoyed. If anything, he was amused.

“We should go for a ride,” Ancel said once they’d finished, the tray empty but for a dusting of crumbs.

“If you like,” Berenger said. “It looks as though it’s stopped snowing. At least for now.”

They parted ways to dress before going down to the stables, where Ancel brought Ruby out of her stall and fed her a bit of dried apple as he watched Berenger getting two sets of tack for them.

“How about a race?” Ancel asked, stroking his gloved fingers through Ruby’s mane. “First to the tree at the top of the hill is the winner.”

“What will I win?” Berenger asked with a smile.

Ancel rolled his eyes. “A favor. Anything the winner wants.”

“Very well,” Berenger said. He really thought he was about to win.

Ancel grinned and mounted Ruby bareback before urging her into a gallop while Berenger was still busy saddling Chestnut. If he protested, Ancel couldn’t hear him through the wind whistling past his ears.

Ruby plowed easily through the snow, throwing up clouds of white powder in her wake. Ancel laughed, bending close to her neck and keeping hold of her mane. It was barely a few minutes before they reached the tree and Ancel dismounted to give her a treat and pat her on the neck.

He settled on the snowy ground with his back to the tree as he waited for Berenger to catch up. He was a brown shadow in the distance, cantering easily down Ruby’s path. Ancel whistled and waved to taunt him before getting distracted when Ruby bent to mouth at his hair in search of more treats.

“Spoiled monster,” Ancel laughed, shoving her away, and then Berenger was finally there, dismounting too. “What were you saying about winning?” Ancel teased.

“Some might say you cheated,” Berenger said and Ancel stuck out his tongue. “Not me, of course,” Berenger continued mildly, sitting on the ground beside him. “I didn’t know you could ride bareback.”

Ancel looked down, grabbing a handful of snow and carefully pressing it into a ball. “Halfdan taught me.” 

They hadn’t talked much about what had happened while they’d been parted and it felt strange to broach the subject now. 

“He wasn’t… it wasn’t all bad. Not all the time. And he- he was the only one.” Ancel swallowed hard, resolutely not looking at Berenger beside him. “Halfdan kept me safe from the others. They didn’t- no one else touched me.”

Berenger was silent long enough that Ancel glanced over at him nervously. He didn’t look angry or disgusted. Just sad.

“None of that was your fault,” Berenger said quietly. “I’m not sure if you were simply upset that night in my study, or if you really think that I might… hold it against you. I can assure you- nothing could be further from the truth. I think you’re clever, and brave, and lovely.”

“I know,” Ancel said, blushing as he looked away again. Oddly enough, it wasn’t so hard to believe. Berenger really was very foolish. “I just thought I’d- tell you. You did want me to… talk.”

“Thank you,” Berenger said, moving to wrap his arm around Ancel’s shoulders. Ancel leaned into him before placing his now perfectly round snowball on the ground between them. He picked up another handful to start on a second, smaller one.

“What did you mean,” Ancel asked. “When you said… you know better than I think.”

“Well,” Berenger started, squeezing his shoulder. “When I was a boy, my father took me with him to tour the outlying villages. There was a Vaskian raid.” He paused, watching as Ancel put the second snowball on top of the first. The structure tilted a little and Berenger reached out to right it while Ancel was occupied with his next handful of snow.

“They took me back to their camp,” Berenger continued. “I was there for three weeks while my father negotiated my ransom.”

It was strange to imagine Berenger as a child, but suddenly Ancel could see it. A sad little boy in a brown jacket, alone and scared in a camp surrounded by a whole clan of men like Halfdan.

“I was their payday,” Berenger said. “So I didn’t experience the worst of it. But I did see how they treated their slaves, and each other. It’s partly why even today I work closely with clans like Halvik’s, to try and help them get the raiders under control.”

“I’m sorry.” Ancel said.

Berenger squeezed his shoulder encouragingly. “I didn’t tell you so you’d feel sorry for me, but so that you might understand that I’m not some soft lordling. You can talk to me. I won’t buckle under the pressure.”

“I know,” Ancel said with a smile. He placed the third and final snowball on top of the others before digging down beneath the layer of snow for a dried brown leaf, wrapping it around his makeshift snowman’s middle. “Look. It’s you.”

Berenger laughed. “So it is. You haven’t told me yet- what would you like for your favor?”

“I…” Ancel started, staring down at the lopsided little snowman.

“Come now,” Berenger said. “You can tell me. Diamonds? Emeralds? Perhaps a whole pile of rubies?”

“That’s a bit boring, don’t you think?” Ancel asked. “Maybe I want you to do something truly shocking, like wear a blue jacket for once.”

“What will people think?” Berenger asked. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

“I want…” It was so hard to say it but Ancel screwed up his courage and turned to face Berenger. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold, his hair ruffled. He looked rather handsome, strong and distinguished. “I want-”

Ancel couldn’t force the words out so he reached out to take Berenger by the lapels of his coat and leaned in, bringing their lips together. Berenger froze under him, not responding, so Ancel pulled back. His heart was pounding as though he’d been in a race as he looked at Berenger, staring back at him.

“A kiss,” Ancel whispered. “Although it would be nicer if you kissed me back.”

“Ancel,” Berenger said, covering Ancel’s hands with his own. “You don’t have to-”

“You ended our contract,” Ancel said, his words coming out in a rush. “So- so you’re not the boss of me anymore. I can kiss you if I want to.”

“Do you?” Berenger asked. “Want to?”

Ancel was still holding tight to Berenger’s coat and he moved to straddle him, looking into his eyes. Berenger seemed worried, perhaps. Nervous. But his flush had deepened and his lips were parted and Ancel leaned in again, screwing his eyes shut as he felt Berenger move to wrap his arms around Ancel’s waist and pull him closer.

They kissed and it was so much better than it had been in Arles. It wasn’t for show or for a scheme, it was just them, because they wanted to.

Something cold and wet fell to Ancel’s cheek and he drew back, opening his eyes to see snow coming down once more. There was already a faint dusting of it in Berenger’s hair and Ancel smiled as he brushed it away.

“We should head back,” Berenger said.

“Alright,” Ancel said, moving to stand. After Berenger rose Ancel couldn’t help sneaking another kiss. “I should probably ride with you. You know, it’s not good for the horse to ride bareback.”

“I see,” Berenger said, still blushing. He mounted Chestnut before offering Ancel a hand up so he could settle behind him. Ruby snorted in disapproval but went along easily enough as they headed back to the stables.

It was strange how  _ normal  _ everything felt. They’d  _ kissed,  _ for  _ real, _ and yet they fell into their old routine easy as breathing. It wasn’t until after dinner time, while Berenger finished up work for the evening and Ancel sat by the fire, practicing embroidery, that anything changed.

“I have a gift for you,” Berenger said and Ancel looked up in surprise.

“A gift?” he asked. He glanced back at his embroidery, a rather lopsided fir branch decorated with some red ribbons, before setting it aside and rising to walk over to Berenger’s desk. Berenger reached into a drawer and pulled out a surprisingly large box, decorated with delicate floral designs burned into the wood.

Ancel paused to admire it before taking a deep breath and moving to sit in Berenger’s lap, blushing at the easy way Berenger held him close. “What is it?” Ancel asked.

“Jewelry,” Berenger said. “Of course.”

“Of course,” Ancel said, slowly opening the box.

There was a jewel-studded golden cuff inside and he pulled it out. It was surprisingly heavy, long enough to cover half his forearm almost like a gauntlet, and decorated with horses galloping across it.

“A cuff?” Ancel asked as Berenger took it from him, showing him how to open the hidden latch and fastening it around his wrist.

“I have it on good authority that these sorts of ornaments will be the height of fashion come next season,” Berenger said. “The King himself wears one. Though his is not so nice as yours.”

Ancel couldn’t help grinning, holding his arm up to the light to watch how it played over the golden horses. “It’s Ruby and Chestnut!” he said in wonder, recognizing the distinct markings on the two of them picked out in rubies for Ruby and diamonds for Chestnut.

“Yes,” Berenger said. “And there’s something else, too. May I?”

Ancel held out his wrist and Berenger took it, turning his hand so it was palm up.

“Here,” Berenger said, “careful.” He pressed his finger to one of the rubies and Ancel’s eyes widened as a knife slipped out of the cuff, thin and delicate almost like a pin, its blade thinner than the nail of Ancel’s pinky.

Berenger pulled the knife free and offered it to Ancel, who took it numbly. He glanced up into Berenger’s face, confused until he saw the strange mix of determination and sorrow in his eyes.

“Oh,” Ancel whispered. He swallowed hard, looking back at the knife in his hand. “Oh. You have to know- it wouldn’t have helped me to have a knife. It wouldn’t have prevented any of it.”

“I know,” Berenger said, looking down. “I know that. I just- I wanted to give you something… something you could use. If you needed to. Something to keep you safe.”

“I don’t need a knife to keep me safe,” Ancel said, his heart full to brimming. “I have you, don’t I?”

Berenger seemed uncertain, so Ancel smiled and leaned in to press a kiss to his lips.

“Yes,” Berenger said. “You do.”

“Why don’t you keep it,” Ancel said, moving to carefully pin the narrow knife through the lapel of Berenger’s jacket. “In return for the cloak.”

Berenger flushed as red as a tomato and Ancel laughed, leaning in to kiss him again.

It felt  _ good  _ in a way Ancel wasn’t used to. It felt good to be close, to have Berenger’s hands on him- warm and steady, holding him gently.

Ancel deepened the kiss and couldn’t help a soft moan at the feeling of Berenger’s tongue against his, swiping into his mouth tenderly like he was asking permission. Any moment now, Ancel worried that Berenger would turn his face to the side, push him away. But he didn’t. He simply kissed Ancel back and slid one of his hands down to rest on Ancel’s thigh, warm and close.

Ancel pulled back just enough to look at him, to take in the besotted expression on his face. He wasn’t used to  _ wanting  _ this, enjoying it. He couldn’t help himself now, couldn’t help the way his breath came quick and his heart raced, the way his hands trembled.

“I want-” Ancel whispered.

“What do you want?” Berenger asked.

“I want- you,” Ancel said.

“How?” Berenger asked, raising a hand to cup the side of his face, running his thumb over Ancel’s cheek in a slow soothing motion. “What do you like?”

Fucking had never been about what he liked, so Ancel didn’t know. But he knew he felt hot all over, and his cock was growing hard, and he liked touching Berenger, being touched by him. Being kissed by him.

“I don’t know,” Ancel said, honest for once. “Show me something nice.”

Berenger’s lips quirked up into a smile. “Alright,” he said, taking hold of Ancel’s waist and lifting him to sit on the edge of the desk before him. He leaned forward, both hands resting on Ancel’s spread thighs even as his gaze never left Ancel’s face.

“You’ll tell me if you want me to stop, won’t you?” Berenger asked.

“Yes,” Ancel said, the word turning to a shocked hiss when Berenger cupped him through his trousers. His hand was warm, the pressure bliss. Ancel gripped the edge of the desk to keep himself from bucking up into Berenger’s hand. It would be unseemly. They’d only just begun, he couldn’t make a mess of himself so soon. 

Except then Berenger leaned forward to press a kiss to his still-clothed cock and Ancel had to close his eyes, blushing hotly. Surely he wouldn’t.  _ Surely  _ this sort of thing wasn’t done. Not by a  _ Lord  _ for a- a- well. Ancel wasn’t sure what he was now. Not a pet, exactly. Not anymore.

Berenger’s fingers were nimble over the laces of his trousers and Ancel hissed again at the shock of Berenger’s bare hands on him, pulling his cock out. He couldn’t help but look, not sure this was real as Berenger moved to take his cock in his mouth. The sudden wet heat of it, the pressure, the strangely transgressive sight of Berenger between his thighs,  _ sucking him,  _ had Ancel crying out and gripping the desk so hard his knuckles went white.

“Fuck,” Ancel moaned, trembling as Berenger continued. No one had ever done this for him before and suddenly Ancel was glad. If he’d known what this was like, he would have wanted it all the time. And in some strange way he wanted his first time to be with Berenger. He had so few firsts left to give, it was an odd joy to share this with someone he actually cared for.

Ancel felt himself hurtling towards his climax no matter how hard he tried to fight it back, to make this last.

“I- I’m close,” he managed to gasp out. “I- please, I-”

He was vaguely aware of one of Berenger’s hands leaving his thighs, and when he looked down it was to see Berenger palming himself through his trousers, the sight of it making the desire in Ancel’s gut burn brighter. The thought that Berenger liked this, sucking him, that he got off on it, was nearly too much to bear.

“Oh fuck,” Ancel gasped. All thoughts fell away as Berenger moved to take all of him in his mouth, sucking hard. The world went bright and silent as Ancel reached his peak, shuddering as Berenger continued to suck him through it until at last he pulled back and swallowed.

Ancel fought to catch his breath as he stared at Berenger before him, his pupils blown and his hair mussed, his cheeks flushed and his skin glistening faintly with sweat. Ancel felt like he’d just run a race and he was on the verge of collapse. He felt wonderful.

He reached out and Berenger wrapped his arms around him, pulling Ancel back to sit in his lap.

Ancel tucked his face into the crook of Berenger’s neck and closed his eyes, simply breathing for what felt like ages.

“I- do you want me to-” Ancel said eventually.

“Ah,” Berenger said, his voice a little muffled from where he’d pressed his face into Ancel’s hair. “I- ah. Finished. Shortly after you did.”

Ancel couldn’t help but snort out a laugh. His Lord had used his mouth to pleasure him only to come, barely touched, in his own trousers.

“I’m fairly certain this isn’t how these things are supposed to go,” Ancel murmured. He felt drowsy, his head heavy and for once empty of thought.

“We can decide for ourselves how this will go,” Berenger said.

“How scandalous,” Ancel laughed, breathing in Berenger’s comforting scent.

“Quite,” Berenger said wryly, holding him close.


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

There were more gifts- silks and embroidered jackets and boots and emerald earrings and golden necklaces. There were more nights spent entwined together, sleeping together, kissing and touching until the both of them found their release.

During the days Ancel practiced his reading and his embroidery. He took too many baths and spent too much time watching the way Berenger read documents, the way his fingers cradled quills and scratched out missives.

Ancel felt wonderful- safe and cared for, happy and free.

And still something was missing, something he couldn’t quite place.

He wasn’t bored, exactly. He had plenty of things to occupy his time. When he got restless he’d convince Berenger to come for a ride with him, or convince him to do other things, like make use of his clever mouth in ways other than talking. 

It was hard to keep track of time during the dreary winter days. He didn’t know how much time passed until he woke one morning to quiet speaking. He opened his eyes to see Berenger overseeing servants bringing two cedar chests into the room.

“What’s that?” Ancel asked, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

“Our clothing for the midwinter feast,” Berenger said, sending the servants away. “It’s tonight, at the governor’s mansion in Marisse. Would you like to see?’

Ancel grinned as he climbed out of bed, slipping his feet into fur-lined slippers before padding over.

“That one’s yours,” Berenger said, pointing to one of the chests.

Ancel threw it open with glee, gasping to see a fine brocade coat in blues and greens, as vibrant as the feathers of a peacock and in patterns to match. There were tight woolen trousers with leather panelling and heeled boots that went to the knee, the leather embossed with gold designs almost like feathers. There were a few other items, a white silk shirt, lace stockings, a delicately knitted woolen scarf in a rainbow of hues. At the very bottom of the chest was a small pouch containing skimpy silk underthings that Ancel _knew_ Berenger hadn’t picked out himself.

“Do you like it?” Berenger asked. “You know I don’t have much of an eye for fashion, but I wanted to surprise you. I asked your friend, that boy Mathe, if he could help select something-”

“I love it,” Ancel grinned. “What’s yours?”

He peeked into Berenger’s chest and saw garments in deep cerulean blue embroidered with tiny golden starbursts along the hems and collars. He couldn’t help a delighted gasp, bringing his hands together to clap. “Blue!”

“We’ll match,” Berenger said.

“We’ll match!” Ancel echoed, laughing as he pressed closer to give Berenger a kiss. “When do we go? When does it start? We shouldn’t be late, I want-”

“Let’s have breakfast first,” Berenger said, laughing too. “And then we’ll head out. How does that sound?”

“Oh fine,” Ancel said, though he couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. “How many people will be there? Anyone important? No, don’t tell me. I want to be surprised.”

He tried not to rush through breakfast, it wouldn’t make the time go faster anyway. He was still giddy when it came time to dress, enjoying the feeling of luxurious fabrics over his skin, the way the gold detailing caught the sunlight streaming through the window. He took special care with his hair and his face paint, carefully selecting a rose-scented perfume to dab on his neck and wrists before agonizing over his jewelry. The gold cuff, of course, though he wore that all the time. He chose emeralds and diamonds for the rest of it, finishing just before noon.

Ancel walked out into the shared sitting room to see Berenger had dressed as well, striking in blue and gold, though his garments would no doubt be more restrained and severe than that of the other Lords. It was still a marked improvement on his usual form of dress and Ancel couldn’t help grinning when he saw Berenger’s only ornamentation- the narrow gold dagger from Ancel’s cuff was pinned through the lapel of his jacket.

Ancel’s excitement didn’t fade even over the hours-long carriage ride. They arrived before sundown, so they took the time to stroll through the city of Marisse and enjoy all the festive decorations.

They stopped in to visit Mathe, too. Ancel handed over the gift he’d prepared, watching as Mathe grimaced when he tore back the parchment to find a thick book.

“Oh,” he said flatly. “How kind. You shouldn’t have.”

Ancel couldn’t help bursting into laughter and Mathe glared suspiciously, slowly sliding the book open. Ancel had hollowed out the pages and placed a small pouch inside, full of gold coins.

“Well,” Mathe said, smiling a little. “That’s more like it.”

By the time they left the store it was growing dark, so Ancel and Berenger started the walk up to the governor’s mansion. The road was lit with colored lanterns and crowded with happy people coming and going. The mansion itself was bustling, full of beautifully-dressed courtiers and their pets.

It was so strange to see proper _pets_ again, glittering like jewels on their master’s arms. Ancel simultaneously felt a sense of belonging and acute separation. He wasn’t a pet anymore, not exactly. What he was to Berenger was somewhat vaguely defined but he didn’t have a contract. While he was certainly just as richly dressed, if not more so, than the most expensive pet in the room, their clothing was flimsy and revealing while Ancel was covered from head to toe.

Berenger must have noticed his hesitation because he paused, setting a hand on his lower back and leaning close. “Are you alright?” he murmured. “We don’t have to stay. Would you like to go?”

Ancel blinked slowly, taking in the grand hall around them. The other guests were starting to notice them now, the pets catching on quicker than their masters and leaning in to whisper to each other. There were a few faces that Ancel vaguely recognized from Arles, but certainly no one he knew by name.

Strangely enough, the expressions over their faces didn’t seem malicious, just puzzled. They didn’t know what to make of him, now. And certainly they wouldn’t. The last they knew of him was that he was Lord Droet’s pet before being charged with treason and disappearing into the dungeons. And now here he was again, returned from the grave on Lord Berenger’s arm, dressed in such finery they could never dream of.

“And miss a fine party like this?” Ancel asked, relaxing slowly. He reached out to pluck two flutes of champagne off a passing server’s tray, handing one over to Berenger. “I think not.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Berenger said, clinking their glasses together and taking a sip of the golden liquid inside before leading Ancel through the hall towards where the governor of Marisse and his wife were welcoming guests.

The governor and his wife seemed ecstatic that Lord Berenger had chosen to attend their banquet and Ancel couldn’t help flushing a little with pleasure. Berenger didn’t usually attend such things, but he was now- for Ancel.

It wasn’t anything like the lavish banquets at the royal court, but the atmosphere was festive and lively. Perhaps it was even better than court- the guests were happy and carefree, not the scheming courtiers Ancel had gotten used to.

Dinner was a tasting menu of twelve courses, each more delicious than the last, and the liquor flowed freely. Berenger drank sparingly, and though Ancel allowed himself to relax he was still careful not to overindulge. He wanted to remember everything about this happy bubbling night.

He wondered idly if there would be a pet performance, wondered how he might feel to see one. A few of the pets were already getting overly friendly with their masters, relaxed after all the food and drink. A few seats down, a young woman draped in delicate gold chains and translucent silks went to her knees to please her mistress with her mouth. Beside them another couple was kissing ardently.

Ancel averted his eyes, not bothered but not particularly interested. Maybe a performance wouldn’t bother him so much either. He thought back to some of the performances he’d seen in Arles, at the play-acted rapes done for show, and felt slightly ill.

A group of servants politely ushered guests out of the center of the room, clearing a space. Ancel swallowed, nervous at what was about to happen. He snuck a glance at Berenger but he seemed relaxed as he sat speaking with a border Lord about import taxes and other matters of international trade. Ancel relaxed a bit too. He knew Berenger didn’t like to watch the pet performances either. If one should happen, Berenger wouldn’t be opposed to taking some air. Maybe leaving altogether.

Ancel turned back to his own conversational partner, a cloth merchant talking hopefully about the changing of button fashions from mother-of-pearl to silver filigree. He pulled out samples that Ancel looked at with interest while still sneaking apprehensive glances out into the hall.

Instead of a pair of pets, the governor and his wife went out into the cleared space. The musicians started a slow waltz and the couple began to dance. Ancel nearly laughed with relief, his worries fading away as though they’d never been.

After the first song, Ancel pulled Berenger in to dance too and he couldn’t stop smiling as they were surrounded by happy twirling couples, drifting through the hall like flowers in a gentle stream.

By the time Ancel was giddy and exhausted the night had grown later, but the music didn’t stop and neither did the servants making their rounds with trays containing small stoneware cups.

“What’s this?” Ancel asked, taking one and giving it a sniff. It smelled strong but slightly sweet, oddly pleasant.

“Hakesh,” Berenger said. “It’s brewed by Vaskian priestesses. It’s, ah-” he paused, blushing. “It’s to… facilitate successful nights by the coupling fires. It’s rare to find outside Vask, but the local merchants do brisk trade with the friendly tribes, and so…”

Ancel blinked as he took in the stream of hasty explanation, picking apart Berenger’s words for the meaning within. “It’s an aphrodisiac,” he said at last, grinning.

“Yes,” Berenger said, his voice a bit strangled. “So you might consider putting it back.”

“My Lord?” the waiting servant asked, addressing Ancel.

Ancel couldn’t help a surprised giggle. Instead of putting his cup back he took a second and offered it to Berenger.

Berenger took it slowly, still looking uncertain but with a good-natured smile playing over his lips.

“Cheers,” Ancel said, tapping his cup against Berenger’s before downing it while Berenger did the same.

It was nice enough, and over the next few minutes Ancel started to grow hot and a little dizzy, pleasantly so. 

They danced a few more songs, though Ancel found himself pressing closer to Berenger than was strictly necessary. When the room grew too stifling they went out onto the snow-strewn terrace for a bit of air and Ancel crowded Berenger against the railing, kissing him thoroughly.

He felt amazing, needy and fit to bursting. The terrace was empty but for a few couples getting up to equally amorous activities and Ancel had half a mind to shove his hand down Berenger’s trousers right then and there.

“Lord Berenger,” came an annoyed but familiar voice. “You’re a difficult man to get a hold of.”

Ancel whined in disappointment when Berenger pulled back from their kiss, turning away. “Councilwoman Vannes,” he said, his voice coming out strained. “Apologies. I’ve been… busy.”

“I can see that,” Vannes hissed angrily. “I see you’ve found another redhead to occupy yourself with instead of matters of state.”

Ancel turned to look at her, blinking slowly as he took in her Vaskian formal dress. Her pet Talik was beside her, her arms bare even in the cold.

“-Ah,” Vannes said, drawing up short. “Ancel. You’re- it’s good to see you’re well.”

Ancel wrapped his arms around Berenger’s waist, pressing flush to him and tucking his head under Berenger’s chin. He wasn’t sure what the hell Vannes was doing here, but he was quickly running out of patience.

“You might have mentioned you found him,” Vannes muttered. “This certainly explains why you’ve been so reluctant to-”

 _“Vannes,”_ Berenger said sharply, cutting her off. There was a faint tremor in his voice and Ancel couldn’t help a smile as he felt Berenger’s cock twitch against his thigh. “Whatever business you have with me, surely it can wait until morning.”

“It’s not like you to put off business,” Vannes said, even as Talik set a soothing hand on her shoulder.

“We’ve had hakesh,” Ancel said smugly, smirking at her. “So I think we’ll be taking our leave now.”

“Pleasure, as always,” Berenger managed before Ancel was pulling him away, back into the manor. 

They’d been given rooms by the governor, but since Ancel didn’t know where they were they had to stop several times to ask passing servants for directions. By the time Ancel was pushing Berenger down onto crisp sheets in a room he hadn’t bothered to examine he was burning up with need.

He growled in annoyance as he got tangled up in Berenger’s laces in an attempt to get him out of his beautiful blue jacket.

“I’m starting to envy the Akielons,” Ancel muttered as Berenger moved to help him. “If you’d been wearing a chiton I could have just flipped it up and had my way with you.”

“Artless,” Berenger said, flushed and mussed, looking a bit dopey with a besotted grin over his face. “Undressing builds up the anticipation to the-”

“Shut up,” Ancel groaned, moving to kiss him senseless.

Berenger _giggled,_ which was the silliest thing in the world, and Ancel laughed as Berenger flipped them over before applying himself to Ancel’s clothing, which was easier to open by far.

The lovely peacock jacket came open, and then Ancel pulled off his shirt while Berenger took off their boots and unlaced Ancel’s trousers, pausing a moment to admire the lacy underthings Ancel wore beneath.

“Come _on,”_ Ancel moaned as Berenger kissed his way down Ancel’s body only to pause, his hand on Ancel’s thigh. “What are you- oh.”

Berenger was looking at the burn marks, frowning thoughtfully.

Ancel flushed. He’d been so careful to keep them hidden under clothing and the cover of darkness. Of course Berenger would have to see them _now,_ when he was too delirious with happiness to be as careful as he had to be.

“Don’t look,” Ancel said, grabbing a fistful of blankets to cover the hideous marks. “They’re ugly.”

“They’re not,” Berenger whispered, gently pushing Ancel’s hand aside to press reverent kisses to each of the five burns. “Nothing about you could be.”

Ancel flushed harder, his heart fluttering. “Stop it,” he muttered. “You’re being disgusting.”

“Am I?” Berenger asked, looking up. He looked oddly boyish in that moment, disheveled and carefree. “I can’t help it. I love you.”

Ancel groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Disgusting,” he repeated. “Would you fuck me already? I think I’ll explode otherwise.”

“We can’t have that,” Berenger said, and finally- _finally-_ moved to take Ancel in his mouth.

Ancel gasped and arched up into him, stopped by the firm grip of Berenger’s hands over his hips, keeping him pressed down to the bed. Ancel couldn’t stifle the needy whimpers breaking free from his lips as Berenger moved over him, his mouth hot and tight over Ancel’s cock. It wasn’t much longer before he spilled, and then Berenger sat back to take off the rest of his own clothes, still smiling as he watched Ancel fighting to catch his breath under him.

“Do you want more?” Berenger asked. “Or do you want to stop?”

“You infuriating bastard,” Ancel managed. His cock was still hard, his blood still singing in his veins. “You’d better not stop if you know what’s good for you.”

Berenger laughed before moving to kiss him. Ancel didn’t have the heart to push him away, to complain about the bitter taste of his own spend in Berenger’s mouth. It wasn’t that bad, really. Though he’d never admit it.

There was an array of oils set out on a silver tray on the nightstand and Berenger grabbed one blindly, slicking his fingers before moving to push inside. Ancel let his eyes flutter shut and his thighs fall open, submitting easily to the sweet stretch of Berenger’s fingers, so gentle and steady inside him.

Berenger had him on his back, the first time. It had never been like that before, with anyone else. Before, Ancel had been used to being on his hands and knees, his face pressed into the pillows. He'd been used to men wanting him without wanting _him,_ specifically. But the way Berenger looked at him left no room for pretending they were with anyone but each other. The way Berenger looked at him made Ancel feel wanted, and seen, and so good he was dizzy with it.

The second time Ancel rode him, his thighs trembling with exertion while Berenger stared up at him, stunned as he whispered embarrassing nonsense. Complements and endearments, his name spoken in the sweetest way. _I love you- Ancel- I love you._

With the hakesh raging through both of them Berenger took him a third time as the fire in the hearth burned down to embers. That time they were on their sides with Berenger behind him, pressing achingly sweet kisses to Ancel’s neck and stroking his side, his cock. Slow and lazy, like he was savoring it.

* * *

Ancel woke to an empty bed and muffled voices from the room beyond. His body ached pleasantly, sore everywhere but in a sweet way that made him think of all the lovely things Berenger had said to him the night before.

_I love you._

He rose on shaking legs and pulled on Berenger’s discarded shirt before walking to the door, pressing his ear to it to hear Berenger’s voice.

“-I don’t have to agree to anything. I’m perfectly content to-”

He was interrupted by Vannes, quieter but no less vehement. “The King himself has asked you to be part of his council, and yet you dither in your province playing house with-”

“I have every right to do so! My hands are full with other matters, that isn’t a crime-”

“He asked for you! For your council! Are you seriously refusing to-”

Ancel opened the door and Vannes abruptly stopped speaking, glaring at him and Berenger, sitting stiff in an armchair by the window.

“Lady Vannes,” Ancel said. “Or- Councilwoman Vannes,” he corrected. Berenger offered him a wan smile that didn’t ease the tension in his frame. “Isn’t this scandalous. The two of you meeting without a chaperone.”

“I think we both know Lord Berenger doesn’t need a chaperone while meeting with a lady,” Vannes said icily, glaring.

“Do we,” Ancel said, delighted. “My lord? If I might speak to you for a moment? In private?” He raised a pointed eyebrow, waiting as Berenger stood and followed him back into the bedroom.

As soon as the door was closed, Ancel turned on him. “What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed.

“Excuse me?” Berenger asked.

“Am I to understand His Majesty has offered you a council seat and you’ve declined?”

“I-” Berenger flushed, looking away. “Maybe I have my eye on a different position. Maybe I’d like to be the ambassador to Akielos and see the white cliffs of Ios for myself.” When he looked back at Ancel, his gaze was soft. “Maybe I’m perfectly happy to stay home, attending to more important matters.”

“That’s stupid,” Ancel said, fighting not to blush. “I’ve seen your letters. His Majesty is embarking on a historical undertaking- allying with Akielos and building a joint court at Marlas. Do you truly not wish to be part of that? To leave your mark on the world?”

“I see your reading lessons have been progressing better than you’ve led me to believe,” Berenger said dryly.

Ancel rolled his eyes. “Answer the question, you lovestruck fool.”

“I…” Berenger paused, raising his hand to Ancel’s waist. “I don’t know. But I do know I don’t want to go without you. I wasn't sure you’d be ready for all that. Not quite yet.”

“You could have asked,” Ancel whispered. He wasn’t sure he was ready himself, but he knew in his gut that this was the right thing to do. This was what was missing. He wanted Berenger, but he didn’t want to while his days away on pleasant but vacant pursuits. Not while he could be in the middle of things, affecting the world around him.

“It’s not so simple,” Berenger said. “The King- the other king. The King of Akielos. He’s-”

“The bastard?” Ancel asked, wrinkling his nose.

“The slave,” Berenger said. “You remember. From the gardens.”

Ancel’s eyes widened in shock. “No. He was-”

“Yes,” Berenger said. “I wouldn’t want… I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Oh,” Ancel said, mind reeling. He remembered the night in the gardens well, his foolhardy grasp at power and the way it came to nothing. He remembered the slave and the Prince staring at each other as if Ancel, sucking the slave’s cock, was beneath their notice. Just a vessel for their own hatred.

He couldn’t help a quiet laugh. “The Kings… they’re working together now, yes?”

“Yes,” Berenger said after a brief hesitation. “They say it’s… they say they’re lovers.”

“And yet King Laurent has done far worse to him than I ever did. I hardly think it will be a major concern.”

“I worry,” Berenger said.

“Worry less,” Ancel countered with a smile. “What do you want? Do you want the position or not?”

Berenger paused and Ancel reached out to take his hand.

“Yes,” Berenger said quietly. “I do. I want to do good in the world.”

“Then take it,” Ancel whispered. “I’ll go with you. It will be glorious. _We_ will be glorious.”

“You’re sure?” Berenger asked, his eyes full of uncertainty.

“I’m sure,” Ancel said, pressing forward to give him a kiss.

* * *

The royal reception chamber at Marlas was far from the lavish great hall at Arles. It was still impressive, all white marble and soaring columns, the walls hung with blue starburst banners interspersed with Akielon red.

King Laurent sat on one of the twin thrones, Damianos Exalted notably absent. Ancel breathed out a small sigh of relief, glad to leave that fraught meeting for a different time.

“Lord Berenger,” King Laurent said. “Ancel. A pleasure to see you both whole and hale.”

“Ancel!” Nicaise exclaimed from where he’d been perched casually on the arm of King Laurent’s throne. “You’re safe!” He practically bounded down the steps of the dais to throw himself into Ancel’s arms.

Ancel could only hold him back, shocked at the gesture.

“Glad you’re back,” Nicaise said, winking as he pulled away and strode out of the room.

King Laurent blinked. “I didn’t realize you two were so close.”

Ancel blinked too, slowly raising his hand to his ear. “We aren’t,” he said incredulously. “He stole my earrings.”

  
  


_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [barbitone](http://barbitone.tumblr.com/) and pillowfort also at [barbitone](https://www.pillowfort.io/barbitone)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A road of our own](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189223) by [barbitone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone)




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